


Lathe

by Haecceity



Series: An Empire is a Machine [2]
Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Child Abuse, Consent Issues, F/F, F/M, Politics, bitter satire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 13:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 38,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haecceity/pseuds/Haecceity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fallout from the events of Fulcrum continues</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written before 2x12 aired. I'm not entirely happy with the way some of the characterization developed in light of the last half of S2.

Winter came unusually hard that year. Snow piled every vertical surface in deep, damp drifts. Icicles decorated eaves with glassy, dripping spikes. Another gust of harsh wind rattled the roof of the inn. The blood lay on the snow in cooling puddles and splatters.

"What happened here?" The D'Haran ambassador asked through bloodless lips. She knelt next to the body of a Mord-Sith, trying not to lose her breakfast. Jennsen could feel the warm, comforting presence of Chase Brandstone at her back. It was all that kept her from running as she looked up at the gathering of angry villagers.

"They attacked us." One of the remaining Mord-Sith said harshly, holding her Agiel at the ready.

"We don't want them here!" Mark shouted. The crowd roared in agreement.

Jennsen forced herself to look at the bodies. She tried to think of them like the chickens back on her mother's farm but all she could see was her mother's corpse in Denna's arms. Still, she counted two dead Mord-Sith and nine dead villagers. "Go," she croaked. "Lord Rahl has commanded you to stop training girls."

"We didn't come to train anyone." A Mord-Sith Jennsen assumed was the leader said unblinkingly.

"Then why are you here?" Chase asked calmly. When Jennsen turned around to look at him his expression gave nothing away. His heavy winter cloak was pushed back so his throwing knife was in easy reach.

"We needed shelter. Another blizzard is on its way." The woman said in that same quiet, steely voice all Mord-Sith used. "These people attacked us. We defended ourselves."

Mark didn't look at Jennsen or Chase. "Don't go where you aren't wanted."

Jennsen saw Brigid pushing through the crowd to reach Mark. She wet her chapped lips. "This is rather far from the People's Palace."

The lead Mord-Sith stalked forward to contemptuously eye Jennsen's black and red dress. "So are you, little mouse."

"This is Jennsen Rahl, the Ambassador sent by Lord Rahl to Brennidon." Chase said without as much as a twitch.

Squaring her shoulders as best she could, Jennsen held the Mord-Sith's gaze. She couldn't go crawling back to Richard after so eagerly taking Alana's place. "I'll see what I can do about getting one of the farmers to let you stay in a barn until the storm passes."

"Mord-Sith do not stay in barns." The woman said, tightening her grip on her Agiel.

"That won't work on me." Jennsen said in a burst of nearly unintelligible words. She blushed bright red and grabbed the Agiel with a black gloved hand. Her breath stopped at the glare the Mord-Sith gave her.

"But you can't extend that protection to everyone in this village." She noted.

Releasing the Agiel, Jennsen swallowed hard. "And you can't kill everyone in this village."

"Can't we?" The Mord-Sith smiled cruelly.

"This is where Lord Rahl was born." Jennsen forced past the dryness of her tongue. "People who knew our mother still live here."

The blast of cold air that cut to Jennsen's bones didn't appear to affect the Mord-Sith at all. "And you're confident he'll take their side, little mouse?"

"Yes," Jennsen's teeth chattered loudly under the angry gaze of the mob. "He threw the D'Haran soldiers out before. He feels that as long as they cooperate while he dismantles the D'Haran Empire the least they deserve is protection for all the sons they lost when he was born." She pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her nose.

The lead Mord-Sith eyed Jennsen for a long moment before nodding decisively. "Sleeping in a barn when in accordance with Lord and Lady Rahl's wishes is no dishonor." She spoke loudly to the remaining Mord-Sith who eased their positions. "If the villagers will let us leave."

Chase cleared his throat and slowly the crowd parted. "You. You have a barn outside town?" Chase asked the nearest farmer in town for supplies. He nodded and grumbled under his breath.

Jennsen let out a breath as the crowd dispersed under Chase's glare and the indifference of the Mord-Sith. "Thank you," she murmured to Chase.

"You're learning." Chase said encouragingly.

***

Cara crossed her arms and glared at the former Lord Rahl. "You wanted to see me." She fingered her Agiel's holster, eyes burning into Darken's face.

"Yes. I have a report to make but if I send it in under my name the Seeker won't read it." Darken still spoke Richard's title with a sneer. "I was hoping you might provide me with a name to put on it."

"You are asking a Mord-Sith to lie to the Lord Rahl." Cara said coldly.

"No. I'm asking you to protect him." Darken said in an undertone of anger. The lamplight glinted off the Rada'Han around his throat. "See if you can keep up. Several of my generals are loyal because I have personally insured their loyalty. No one wants to field troops in winter. Winter is ending, the ground is thawing. Some men with many troops and resources of their own are going to stop being loyal to the Lord Rahl. I have an idea about which ones. The Lord Rahl isn't going to listen to me. You can help him know who his enemies are." He wrapped his robe around himself more tightly.

"You could be lying." Cara noted, sitting on the writing desk.

"I could be." Darken acknowledged. "Do you think I am?"

"I think there's a reason you're talking to me about it instead of the Mother Confessor." Cara drew her Agiel. "Or Triana."

Darken's pupils dilated. "Triana would waste time trying to determine which name would give her the best advantage. It's a skill that served me well as Lord Rahl and I pitted temple against temple but when what I want is to pass information to the Lord Rahl, you're the more... reliable option."

"You think I'm more likely to do what you say." She touched him on the thigh with her Agiel.

"I think you're more likely to give me what I need." Darken gasped and shuddered. He automatically leaned forward to kiss Cara but she pulled away.

She placed two leather-covered fingers under his chin and forced his gaze to meet hers. "Why should I?"

Frustration was the first emotion to cross his face followed closely by something that almost looked like regret. "I may not be Lord Rahl anymore. The Mother Confessor may treat me like a boy who disobeys his tutor. That doesn't mean I have nothing to add."

"Why don't you just tell the Mother Confessor whatever's in that report and let her sort out how much of it is true?" Cara asked, moving the Agiel higher. "Why involve me?"

"After Denna you were my favorite." Darken's fingers twitched. Cara kept her response to herself. Mord-Sith couldn't break Darken because he'd enjoy it too much. Triana had said as much to Richard. The Seeker had turned a most interesting shade of purple. The Mother Confessor had simply agreed with Triana's assessment. "Maybe I want to see more of you."

Cara allowed herself an amused smile. The kind she would have given to an amusing but misbehaving puppy. "But why should the reverse be true?"

"The Seeker doesn't know what you're worth. He wants to stop the training of Mord-Sith. He wants you and your sisters to die out." Darken's voice was dark and seductive. "When have I ever failed to appreciate your Sisterhood? I strengthened you, helped you expand your horizons."

"Is that what you call it?" Cara's sneer broke from her control.

"What do you call it?" Darken challenged, experimentally turning his head. His whole body still showed the tension that came with her use of the Agiel.

Gently, Cara moved the rod away from Darken's lap. She watched as his face showed nothing but his shoulders slumped in a combination of relief and disappointment. "You use us. Used us."

Darken drew a deep breath. "I use a sword too. And you must admit, your Sisterhood has used me too."

Cara paused at the mental image of herself as a sword, polished and sharpened, as any good swordsman would keep it. The idea caused a tightening sensation at her diaphragm. To cover she stroked the side of his face with her Agiel. The contact was brief but she saw that he was sufficiently distracted. "You don't tell me what I must do...”

"I misspoke." Darken said in the same, slightly amused tone he would have used no matter what she did. "Do you think that I'd still be alive if your Sisterhood thought I was useless? Mistress Cara."

"You might have a point." Cara said, amused in spite of herself. She released Darken after another love tap from the Agiel.

"I might." Darken smiled.

***

"The passes are opening, mistress." Egremont told Kahlan fawningly. He didn't wear a D'Haran uniform anymore. The soldiers had nearly rioted the first time they had seen Egremont in uniform and hanging on the Mother Confessor's every word. Now he wore the plain, undyed garments of a palace servant. Not that he cared. All that mattered to him were the moments when Kahlan smiled at him and told him what a good job he was doing.

Kahlan's expression remained neutral while inside a world of conflicting emotions rose in her chest. "I know, Egremont. What do you recommend we do about it?" Her mind tumbled over the many tasks that needed to be accomplished. They would have to divide the Boxes of Orden and hide them before some general or ruler managed to steal them. Each general would need to be treated with and even then would have to prove trustworthy. Kahlan lifted her glass of watered wine and drank while she closed her eyes and listened to Egremont's answer.

"General Grix should be eliminated, mistress. Alive he would only create dissidents." Egremont said. "General Grix was only held in check because he knew that with the previous Lord Rahl he would have to fight every other general in order to take over. He'll test Lord Rahl now and unless the Seeker is willing to scare the other generals into line more will follow in Grix's footsteps, mistress."

"I'm going to give them a fair chance to come to my side and if they don't then I'll deal with that when it happens." Richard said from the doorway. His sword belt was buckled around his waist just as it had been from the moment he'd entered the People's Palace. He might not wear it in the bath but the servants whispered he kept it close at hand even then. His clothing was black and gold but cut close to the manner of a D'Haran soldier. He had accepted the stylized skull of the House of Rahl but claimed that the red velvet robes were too likely to trip him. "It'd be easier to order them all to come here and then execute them." 

"And then their lieutenants would either mutiny or fight each other for command," Kahlan reminded him, looking down to play with the fabric of her beige dress. "And they wouldn't come back if you summoned them." She smiled grimly. "While you could kill all of them too, in the meantime, more bystanders would be killed in the fighting." 

Richard rubbed the pommel of his sword and frowned. "It seems like there should be an easier way to do it." 

"Richard," Kahlan said seriously. "If one of those generals was overthrown instead of replaced the people would celebrate. The D'Harans would get angry and strike back. Both sides would retaliate against retaliations until one side wiped the other out completely. In the heat of the fighting, they would kill their neighbors simply for being on the other side. Normal people, not soldiers, would loot the homes of other civilians no matter which side they were on." 

"Just because some criminals would take advantage of the situation doesn't mean we shouldn't do the right thing." Richard scowled at Kahlan, the room, Egremont and probably the world. 

"Would you still be saying that if your family was one of the ones that might get caught in the fighting?" Kahlan asked, her voice cracking with an emotion that was completely unrelated to grief or sadness. 

"My brother died fighting the D'Harans!" Whenever Richard said 'my brother’, it still always meant Michael. "They killed my father! They killed my mother!" 

"I know that, Richard." Kahlan said, her voice back to a calm, even tone. "But if you had another brother who lived in Winterhaven for example, would you still say that executing Lord Winterhaven was worth it?" 

"He taxes his people until they have practically nothing left." Richard began pacing. 

"And for that he deserves to have his power over other people taken away and to be judged in front of the world." Kahlan took a deep breath. "Does he deserve that at the cost of the lives of his people? Do they deserve to die because they had the misfortune to be born under a bad leader?" 

"They could have left." Richard said shortly. 

"You said it yourself; he taxes them down to the bone." Kahlan pressed her lips together briefly. "If we could simply remove the generals I would be all for executing them. Instead, we can convince him to lower his taxes. As new Lord Rahl you can demand a limit on troops." Over the winter, they had recruited auditors and assessors loyal to Richard. Most of them were lured by the promise of getting to hit the D'Harans where it really hurt. Kahlan doubted it would be easier than if they picked up weapons and attacked the D'Haran garrisons but it might have a better effect. She hoped. She'd done her best to make sure they were honest men but she knew that she'd be lucky if only one or two took bribes. That was why they'd be sent to a different place every year.

With more accurate information, they could make better plans. Darken's ledgers were a mess that Kahlan wouldn't trust to be worth their weight as tinder. Even with more oversight, people were still going to lie, cheat, and steal. That was why Confessors were needed after all. Confessors were spread far too thinly these days. She was trying to figure out a way to set up a system of magistrates so that disputes would go through them instead of the generals.

"It isn't right. They keep doing evil and we just sit here." Richard frowned even harder. "It's giving me a headache."

Kahlan toyed with the idea of going to visit her cell.

***

The snap of the man's neck as the rope pulled tight had become a familiar noise to Alana. The roar of the cheering crowd brought a smile of satisfaction to her face. She was back on the right side of the D'Haran border and it felt good to be home. Her dark Confessor's dress and hood hid her face from the crowd. It wouldn't do for them to see her smiling. This was about justice, not vengeance. These deserters were unlucky enough to be caught, they weren't the real scum.

A Mord-Sith was dragged up onto the gallows wearing only a shift. The only thing that told Alana the woman was a Mord-Sith was the void where her heart should have been when their eyes met.

Alana did her part. She Confessed the other woman and listened to her litany of crimes beginning with betraying the Lord Rahl and working backward. There was no joy or triumph on Alana's face. Only cool, detached serenity.

Even when the Mord-Sith had to stop talking in order to moan in agony.


	2. Chapter 1

"I have another suggestion." Kahlan leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temples. They'd been debating for hours and her patience was wearing thin. "Invite them here. But not just the lord and generals; invite their families, mistresses, aides or whoever else they might be willing to behave themselves to protect."

"Hostages?" Richard frowned at her. "I don't think we should start that way."

Kahlan looked to Zedd for help. "Not hostages but-" She shifted uneasily. "Well, keeping your enemies close."

Zedd cleared his throat. "Richard, consider for a moment that the ladies and generals' wives might not be on your side any more than the lords and generals." He raised his eyebrows. "Kahlan's idea would allow us to keep an eye on them."

"But-" Richard frowned harder. "Won't they be suspicious?"

Darken made a strangled noise from his seat in the corner. As he wasn't officially a part of Richard's council of advisers, Darken wasn't sitting at the table with everyone else. He was sitting in a chair, taking notes on a portable desk.

"You have something to say?" Kahlan asked, a note of warning sounding in her voice.

"No, milady," Darken shook his head, eyes on the report in front of him.

Kahlan narrowed her eyes suspiciously and turned back to the table. "It would give you the opportunity to meet the families of the men who will be pledging their loyalty to you. They'll be suspicious, yes. Suspicious of you, suspicious of me-"

"Suspicious of the Wind of Death." Triana, their Mord-Sith spokeswoman for the meeting, interrupted pointedly.

"Yes," Kahlan deliberately didn't turn to look at Zedd. "We cannot prove ourselves by letting them drift off into their own plans or by saying we're doing the right thing."

"Knowing which ones will come to us would be useful as well." Zedd said as if nothing had happened. "Those who are bold enough or foolish enough to try anything with us on hand are better dealt with sooner than later."

"If I could say something?" Triana asked louder than necessary, looking down her nose at Kahlan.

"You may," Richard said when Kahlan looked to him.

"You and you shouldn't be there to greet them." Triana pointed first at Zedd and then at Kahlan. She leaned forward aggressively and locked eyes with the Seeker. "If you greet them with the Wind of Death on one side and the Mother Confessor on the other any D'Haran with the brains of a sheep is going to think you're the enemy and that you're making a threat."

"It was wartime. I did what was necessary." Zedd finally responded. Kahlan's eyes took in the tiredness in the set of his shoulders.

"What's past is past," Kahlan cut in before Triana could respond. "We need to focus on how to deal with what's going on right now." She gave Zedd a quick smile that was meant to be reassuring.

Richard cleared his throat. "What's going on right now is that we need to work on replacing the D'Haran leadership. I'm not going to just get rid of Zedd and Kahlan."

"It would be easier to decide how to replace them after meeting them," Zedd noted.

"They're going to expect you to behave like Darken did when he took power," Triana said with casual contempt. Kahlan knew she would never like the woman but she was able to acknowledge just how badly they needed Triana's perspective. While Kahlan wished Triana had more respect for the new Lord Rahl that wasn't a reason not to listen to someone who had more of an inside perspective. "They'll assume that you're going to demand an oath of loyalty and execute anyone who refuses to take it."

"That is what I plan to do." Richard said bluntly.

"They'll expect favors in return for that loyalty. From past experience I think that delusion might last five seconds." Triana shrugged. "Then they'll be angry." She gave Richard a predatory smile.

"What do you want me to do?" Richard asked, frowning. "I can't just let them keep killing people or taxing them into starvation."

"You asked me here to advise not to tell you what to do." Triana snarled.

"Are you angry at me or him?" Richard nodded toward Darken who was watching raptly.

"Sweetie, I've been torturing people for a long time." Triana had forced her lips back into something resembling a smile. "Whatever Denna taught you, I already know." She slowly and carefully placed both of her hands palms down on the table where everyone could see that they were empty. "We learn how to read men so we know when the training is working. Stop. Pitying. Us."

"I don't pity you," Richard said, his frown of anger turning into a frown of confusion.

"So you don't think, "Oh, that poor, misguided woman," whenever you look at me or one of my sisters?" Triana snorted.

"I know what you went through-" Richard began.

"You know how we were trained." Triana corrected.

"It's enough to leave anyone broken." Richard said.

"I'm not broken," Triana sneered. "No more than the next woman."

Kahlan cleared her throat and knocked on the table. "If we could get back to the subject at hand." She glared at Triana. "Which is not your hurt feelings."

"Fine. Invite them all here." Richard threw his hands up in the air. "I'm going to bed."

"I can write them up and you can look them over." Darken spoke for the first time. His body language was carefully neutral.

Richard waved his hand negligibly and left the room.

Darken turned his attention to Zedd and Kahlan. Kahlan wasn't sure if he was just that narrowly focused or if he was ignoring Triana intentionally. "Should I take that as permission? I wouldn't want to upset Lord Rahl." His tone was lightly mocking.

"Yes," Kahlan rubbed her temples. "You have permission to write them up and I'll look them over. You wouldn't try to encode secret messages to your followers under my nose, would you?"

"Other than what they would know from seeing my handwriting on a letter asking them to come here after my defeat, no codes." Darken had to be deliberately ignoring Triana to not look at her when she snorted like that. "Just as if I didn't they'd know things by not seeing my handwriting and signature." His voice had a hint of steel but he steadfastly refused to look in Triana's direction.

"And what would your handwriting tell them?" Zedd asked, staring at Darken as if he were a cornered rat.

"I support the new regime." Darken smiled faintly, a hint of bitterness in his eyes. "Lord Rahl has at least the appearance of my support. Some may not believe in my conversion, as it were-" Triana made another noise. "-but nothing I say in a letter could convince them."

"I think the real question is, 'Will that help us?'" Zedd tented his fingers.

"I don't know what the future holds." Darken said, an irritated frown deepening the lines between his eyebrows. "For that you'd need to talk to your witch friend."

Suddenly, the room felt much smaller. Kahlan stood up, her chair squeaking against the stone floor. "I need sleep too." She looked at Zedd. "Do you want to return him to his cell or should I?"

"I don't want to spend anymore time around this twisted piece of filth than I have to." Zedd stood too.

"I could take him back if you want." Triana offered. "He and I have unfinished business."

"I don't think so." Kahlan gestured for Darken to rise. She wasn't surprised when he didn't stand. Growling under her breath, Kahlan folded her arms and glared at him.

Darken smirked at her as he stood. "After you."

***

"He means well," Cara said languidly as she watched Triana stretch. Her lover's naked, tan body was stretched out next to her on the bed. Cara walked two fingers across Triana's rib cage, her fellow Mord-Sith was tense and angry as usual. Triana was an untrusting, ambitious, and duty-ridden harpy most days. Cara liked that. She always knew where she stood with Triana.

"He still looks down his nose at us," Triana said angrily. "Lord Darken respected us."

Cara snorted a laugh. "Lord Darken respects what we can do for him. And there's always been a great deal we can do for him."

"Lord Rahl wants to get rid of us," Triana sat up, suppressed energy making the motion sharp and jerky.

"Lord Rahl wants to save us," Cara corrected with a feline smile.

"I don't need to be saved," Triana snapped.

"Nor do I," Cara rolled onto her side and propped her head up with one hand. "But it's nice of him to try."

"We're Mord-Sith. We don't need nice." Triana stated what Cara knew was the most important belief in her life.

"We have each other, our Sisterhood," Cara agreed easily. "And we have a Lord Rahl."

"And we'll obey him." Triana said through gritted teeth, looking away from Cara.

"And we'll protect him." Cara moved fluidly into a sitting position and turned Triana's head. She kissed Triana deeply. "Because we're Mord-Sith." She reached for her Agiel.

***

The shouting woke Jennsen before the smell of smoke did. The wind was blowing away from the fire, spreading the smoke in the other direction. When Jennsen peered out her window, she could see the glow like a false dawn. Her fingers fumbled as she pulled on stockings and outer garments. Sleep had evaporated in the burst of adrenalin and all she could think about was getting ready to go outside.

Before she was finished pulling on her cloak, Jennsen heard a pounding on the door to her bedroom. Brennidon wasn't a large enough town to warrant any buildings taller than two stories. Jennsen had gathered from talking to Alana that any town with a single inn was considered small by the Confessors. Anything smaller and they referred to the place as a village or hamlet. Chase chose the house that Lord Rahl had bought for his ambassador and her companions for being defensible. It wasn't designed to hold a retinue or even a complement of servants. Jennsen was certain they had paid double if not treble what the structure was worth but no one was going to say that the Ambassador of D'Hara cheated people out of their property. However, Emma felt that the people might respect Jennsen if she lived the way they thought a lady ought to. So far, the closest they had managed was that Jennsen was the only one who had her own room and it was located on the ground floor beside the chimney. It was warm, private, and (by Jennsen's standards at least) luxurious.

"Ambassador!" Emma's voice sounded from the other side of the wooden door.

"Almost ready," Jennsen called back as her cold stiffened fingers finished fastening her cloak. She opened the door. "Do you know what's happening? Where's Chase?"

"He went to help the fire crew." Worry creased the skin around Emma's eyes. "Someone men had a few drinks and got together to go see if the Mord-Sith had moved on. That was just before dark."

Jennsen ducked her head against the wind as they stepped outside. The muddy slush came up to her ankles, making her grateful for her boots. She and Emma waded out to the town gate. The closer they got, the more densely packed the spectators were. People didn't so much make way for her as they grudgingly took a half step away from her whenever they noticed her. 

The blaze looked like it was mostly contained by the damp and the volunteer fire crew. Jennsen wasn't surprised to see that Chase had taken charge of the other men and women. From what Jennsen gathered the D'Harans had been in charge of the fire crew for more than two decades. A fire within the town's walls would spread almost as fast as if it were in a dry field of grass. The D'Harans had been more worried about the garrison than the town itself of course but they had run a civilian fire crew to make it easier on the soldiers. The local people knew what to do but they weren't used to looking at the fire as a whole and coordinating. Jennsen turned to look at Emma. "You're a lucky woman."

Emma's eyes lingered on a man giving Chase an ugly glare from a safe distance. "I am," she said, quietly frowning.

***

"Will you do it?" Darken asked. Waking up with a Mord-Sith sitting on the foot of the bed was unnerving to say the least. Showing his fear would only lead to experiences that would be better described using words like 'scarring' and 'traumatic' rather than merely nerve-wracking. He identified Cara by her breathing and the hints of yellow that shone off her braid. She held the lantern too far in front of her face for him to be able to see anything more clearly. 

"I can give you a list of Mord-Sith who would be willing to smuggle you out of the palace." Cara said with a smile in her voice.

"Not interested," Darken sat up and swung his legs out of bed. He wasn't going to act more like prey than he had to.

"The great Darken Rahl doesn't want to be a free man again?" Cara asked mockingly. "What's the matter? Are you starting like being your brother's pet? Or is it that you like running when the Mother Confessor snaps her fingers?"

Darken growled deep in his throat. "Are you afraid to answer me?"

Cara snorted. "I'm not afraid of you. I never was." She set the lantern on the floor. The shadows jumped, reminding Darken of the way light flared when his sorcerers called on the Shadow People. "What I want is to see you squirm."

"Well, you know how to do that." Darken said suggestively. "Is that why you're in my bedchamber in the middle of the night?"

"It's almost dawn and from now on your dreams are the only place you'll see me naked," she whispered the last part in his ear.

"Blow out the light and I won't see you," Darken responded playfully, pulling her in for a kiss. She responded for just long enough that he thought he might get through to her. Then she pulled away and hit him over the back of the head with her Agiel. He gave her a superior smile. "That still doesn't answer my question."

"I will give the Mother Confessor and Lord Rahl your list as my own." Cara flipped her braid back over her shoulder. "And what will you do for me?"

"What can a prisoner like me give you that a Mord-Sith like yourself can't take?" Darken leaned back, his smile growing.

"Some things are only worth something if they're given," Cara trailed her Agiel down the side of his face. He jerked back to awareness with Cara's lips against his. "But you're right. You don't have anything I want." She abruptly stood and picked up the lantern in one fluid motion.

"I'm sure you know best, Mistress Cara." Darken said easily. Showing his frustration would only let her know how much she had unsettled him.

"I serve the Lord Rahl," She smirked and was gone.

Darken sat in his bed for a few minutes, debating on whether to get up and get dressed or wait the remaining time until the sun came up. An echo of the dream he'd been having made up his mind. He peeled out of the sweat soaked bottoms he'd slept in to pull on the plain, unmailed black and reds. He wished he had water and soap on hand to bathe with but he wasn't going to keep wearing his nightclothes and he wasn't going to sit around naked.

He paced his cell in the dark, feeling the edges of the washstand and wardrobe with his fingertips. He bumped into the bed with his knee and swore softly. He turned his head quickly when he heard the key turning in the lock. The door opened and Kahlan appeared in the rectangle of light it revealed.

"You're up early," Kahlan said, raising her eyebrows.

Darken sat on the bed and rubbed his shin. He looked up at Kahlan with a faint smile. "Long night."

"I can only imagine," Kahlan tilted her head. "Come on, we have work to do."

He stood quickly enough that he felt his heartbeat for a moment. Pretending that he didn't notice Kahlan's expression, Darken touched her hand. A smile twitched the skin around his eyes when Kahlan paused before pulling her hand away. "What's on the agenda today? Am I going to be publicly flogged yet?"

"No, I'm just going to make you wish for it," Kahlan shook her head as she walked him to his study. "I want ten letters before lunch. You can do another draft later so don't worry about spelling or exact wording." Kahlan flipped her hair over her shoulder.

"I'm having flashbacks to my tutors," Darken said, smirking. "None of them were as lovely as you of course but that tone-," Darken grunted.

"Stop that," Kahlan said sternly but without censure.

"Yes, ma'am." Darken's smirk grew. "Whatever you say ma'am. I live to pleasure you ma'am."

Kahlan gripped Darken's ear between her thumb and forefinger. "If you behave like a juvenile, I'll treat you like one." She said, her tone falsely sweet.

"Promise?"

Kahlan's expression was a mix of amusement and disgust. "Do you ever get tired of playing games?" She released him.

"Do you ever get tired of panting after the Seeker?" Darken shot back.

Kahlan opened Darken's study door. "Get to work."


	3. Chapter 2

"My Lord, General Warriman's retinue is approaching," Cara reported. She tilted her head to the side and waited for a response from Lord Rahl.

"Warriman," Richard muttered. "He was on the list of generals you gave me. Lord Rahl thought he might oppose him."

"The previous Lord Rahl," Cara corrected him without inflection. She suppressed any thoughts about his fitness for the position as firmly as she could. While he wouldn't indulge in executions out of pique, unlike many of his predecessors, she didn't doubt that he would punish disloyalty in some way. Cara had worked too hard and too long to climb the Temple hierarchy just to lose it because she offended the most laid back Lord Rahl in living memory.

Richard waved her words away in apparent distraction. "How fast would he have to be going to get here so soon after we sent off that letter?"

"Fifteen leagues a day at a guess," Cara answered promptly. "Assuming the courier traveled at about eighteen." She allowed disbelief to shade her tone. She had never traveled the roads between the seat of D'Hara and General Warriman's lands but her Sisters of the Agiel who had always mentioned how narrow the way was.

"Ah," Richard paused. "Why do you think that's wrong?"

"From what I heard going more than ten leagues a day on some of those roads would be suicide," Cara lifted her eyebrows. "There was nothing in that letter you sent to make it worth General Warriman's while to break his neck. Even if you had, I don't know any generals who grew up in D'Hara that willing to kill so many horses, my Lord."

Looking out a narrow window, Richard tried to see the courtyard. "I've never thought of D'Haran generals as being particularly caring to animals."

"Lord Rahl, the previous one, never liked paying for more horses than he had to." Cara said, unable to hide her irritation. "My Lord."

"You can stop calling me that," Richard told Cara for the tenth time.

"As you say, my Lord," Cara didn't blink. "Are you going to go greet, the General?" If so, she would need to call up three more Mord-Sith in order to give Richard a decent coterie of bodyguards. She gave Richard's clothes a sidelong glance and smirked. "You might want to change clothes, my Lord."

Richard looked down at his clothes. "The robes are so clumsy." He demonstrated the benefit of the brown shirt he was currently wearing by shrugging his shoulders.

"That's why you have bodyguards," Cara crossed her arms, leathers creaking.

"I can do my own fighting," Richard frowned. "I don't need other people to put themselves in danger for me."

"I'll go call up the rest of the detail," Cara turned so he couldn't see her roll her eyes. She stepped out of the room so he could change. Her red leather boots made the right echoes as she stalked down the corridor. She supposed she ought to feel more nervous about leaving the Lord Rahl alone but as he had pointed out, he was quite skilled at protecting himself. Then again, so had Darken. He had been touchy about his privacy too. Darken had been much more forward and threatening about throwing Mord-Sith out of the room. This was a pleasant change.

There were four Mord-Sith in the room down the hall. It was built from the same gray stone as the rest of the wing, with narrow windows for easy defense. The wall hangings in this particular room were faded by age and had more than a couple splotches where mold had tried to take hold. Cara suspected there had once been bloodstains under those splotches. Mord-Sith were rough on more than just men. Lord Rahl had been willing to indulge them with pretty ornaments. He'd drawn the line any sort of floor decoration and had refused to put the new ones in any place the Mord-Sith planned to work. The furniture and decorations in this room were functional and of good quality despite their appearance. Good enough that Cara had sometimes wondered if Darken Rahl had been trying to bribe them. The table and six chairs were all mismatched and in the configuration that would allow the women to stand and meet a threat in the shortest amount of time.

She took in those details quickly as she molded her expression into one of command. "Lord Rahl needs three volunteers. We're going to go greet General Warriman." She slowly scanned the room, confident of being able to face any threat or challenge they threw out. Raina stood in a fluid motion that was almost a threat but the way she dropped her eyes told Cara not to be worried. Berdine stood a half beat after Raina. Cara's eyes flicked over the woman, noticing a slight untidiness to the braid. She motioned to Raina who began undoing her braid. Ariela stood after sharing a look with Tiana. Cara nodded professionally and when Raina was done braiding Berdine's hair, she led them back to Lord Rahl's chambers.

Richard was tugging at the cuffs of his red and gold robe. The garment was so familiar that Cara's eyes simply skimmed over it. He straightened abruptly and took a deep breath. "Have Kahlan and Zedd been warned?"

"Yes," Cara nodded impatiently.

"Good," Richard walked down the corridor as the four Mord-Sith fell in behind him. Without thinking about it they all matched their steps to Lord Rahl's, striking ominous echoes. Cara wasn't sure why but she breathed easier when they reached the open air of the courtyard. "Which one is General Warriman?"

"I don't see him, my Lord," Berdine whispered.

The members of the Warriman retinue important enough to meet with Lord Rahl were three men in D'Haran military uniforms and a woman in a black linen dress. Cara thought the wiry man on the far right might be the most dangerous. He was over forty and carried himself like a swordsman. Cara glanced down at the man's wrists and noticed that the right was much thicker than the left. A right-handed swordsman standing where he could draw his sword without knocking into his companions. The man in his sixties looked only slightly less dangerous. He was blockier and likely slower but the crossbow he wore on a heavy leather strap slung over his left shoulder required enough strength that Cara would make sure her first blow was the last one she needed. The third man was in his late teens and bore a family resemblance to the first. She quickly dismissed him from her mind. The danger he might pose was if he tripped and became a stumbling hazard. The woman Cara wanted to dismiss. She wasn't a Confessor and she wasn't a Mord-Sith. The skirts would get in the way of any attack, her gloves looked like they were probably too slick to give her a good grip, the black veil was thick enough to limit her vision, and she was short. Something about the way she held herself made Cara take note.

"General Warriman?" Richard directed to the swordsman. "It's good to meet you. You got here faster than we expected."

"We intercepted your courier on our way here," The swordsman shifted uneasily. "I'm Captain Josk, General Warriman's second in command. General Warriman died mid-winter."

Richard backed up a half step while Cara's eyes went to the boy. She didn't blink when he noticed her attention and flushed. "How?" Richard asked in a surprised tone.

"When the people heard that Lord Rahl had been overthrown they revolted." The swordsman looked down. "General Warriman went out to put down the rebels. They'd laid a trap. He-" He turned to look at the black clad woman, "burned to death. We came to you as soon as the road opened."

"What do you expect me to do?" Richard asked. Cara noticed his hand sliding towards the pommel of the Sword of Truth.

"Appoint whether he will be succeeded by an agent of Lord Rahl's choosing or by me," The swordsman straightened into parade rest.

Richard blinked twice. "Who are you?" he asked the other three people.

"That's my nephew, Hengist." The swordsman answered. "This is General Warriman's steward, Jon Iles. And that's General Warriman's widow."

"Do you have a name?" Richard asked the widow, anger quietly threading under the words.

"Lady Oria Warriman, my Lord" The woman curtsied prettily.

Cara turned her head as she identified the sound of footsteps approaching. The Mother Confessor hurried into the courtyard. "Lord Rahl!" She said when she was close enough not to bellow. "May I assist you?"

"Yes," Richard said quickly. "Help them find rooms and listen to each one of them tell who they think would be best to take over for General Warriman."

The Mother Confessor's eyes widened in surprise but that was the only sign of her reaction. "Of course." She gave the foursome a courteous nod. "Follow me please."

***

Darken Rahl stood and stretched. He could hear the murmur of increased traffic as the People's Palace filled with people. It was like listening to a beast growl day and night. He knew the hand opening the study door without needing to look. "Who was it today? I could hear the carriage."

"Lord Callum and his daughter, Annabelle." Kahlan said as she firmly shut the door. "He seems quite anxious that she shouldn't be allowed to interact with the other guests, servants, soldiers. Or anyone else who might happen to be in the Palace."

"I can count the number of times he's been back here since her birth on one hand and still have fingers to spare." Darken turned to face her. The skin around his eyes tightened as he noted that she was wearing her white dress. "How does it feel to be back in uniform?"

"Necessary." Kahlan said, her voice as tense as Darken felt. "It seems that many of your men don't like listening to people who aren't you. Any sign of authority helps."

Darken made a noise of disbelief and leaned against the desk.

"What is it about this situation that bothers you the most?" Kahlan asked, her face neutral. "That you're not in charge, that I am, that Richard is?" The words came out in a slow, deliberate tone. He felt each one like a small blow.

"General Trimack is going to kill me if he gets the chance." Darken said quietly.

"Not being in control then?" Kahlan smiled faintly. An inquisitive look settled around her eyes. "If you believe that, then why leave him alive?"

"If I killed him-" Darken paused to order his thoughts. He should have expected that question. He had expected that question. "After I killed my father- General Trimack was one of those loyal to my father beyond the bounds of mere loyalty. He was also known for possessing honor and integrity and-" Darken couldn't help the bitterness that crept into words that ought to have been praise. "After my father was- After I killed my father there were those who would have rebelled against me out of fear and a desire to rid themselves of me before I rid myself of them." Darken realized he'd begun staring into the middle distance and dragged his gaze back to the Mother Confessor's blazing eyes. "I left a man alive as a symbol that those who did not hurt me would not be hurt.”Besides," Darken managed a sick smile, "he swore loyalty to me and he would never break that oath. Not while I was Lord Rahl."

"I see," Kahlan nodded. "What is it about him that has you so scared?"

Several strategies for dealing with that question flashed through Darken's mind. Denying his fear wasn't one of them. He decided to go with making it a joke. That was the easiest one to reposition from. "The Mother Confessor doesn't believe I burn with terror at the thought of a man with integrity? I am shocked." He smiled, lips clamped tightly over his teeth. "You seem to believe in D'Haran men with good qualities these days."

Kahlan gave him an impatient look. "Yes, some D'Harans are good men and some men from the Midlands are despicable. I think we've covered that already. Many times." A shrewd expression crossed Kahlan's face. "If it isn't about what he did then is it about what General Trimack didn't do? Did you expect him to break his oath anyway?" Darken must have flinched or done something because Kahlan's tone abruptly changed. "You never took him on because you were scared of him then. Egremont was the one who handled your military service."

A chill ran down Darken's spine. Egremont was Confessed to her and she was a curious woman. He knew that she had probably been asking Egremont all sorts of questions that Darken would never have answered. Still, the thought made his blood run cold every time it occurred to him.

"But Egremont doesn't know why you went to so much effort to keep a member of the Dragon Corps away from you." Kahlan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she looked at Darken. Darken felt his mouth go dry. "He was your father's friend."

"My father didn't have friends," Darken snapped quickly.

"Confidante? Comrade?" Kahlan paused. "If we were talking about two men, neither of which was your father, would you call them friends?"

"Yes," Darken said reluctantly.

"You killed his friend and left him alive, with military backing." There was a question in the way Kahlan held her mouth but it wasn't directed at Darken. "How much do you have to hate someone to give them that kind of power, a reason to use that power against you, and just-" Kahlan made a vague hand gesture.

"Leave nothing between him and vengeance except a troubled conscience?" Darken smiled tightly. "Quite a lot." The satisfaction he felt when he thought of the years Trimack had spent squirming was less blunted by his fear than he would have thought.

The disgust on Kahlan's face hurt more than Darken was willing to admit. "Good spirits be merciful. No wonder the thought of him coming back has you wetting yourself."

"I'm hardly wetting myself." Darken said indignantly.

Kahlan gave him a withering glare. "No?"

"Did you want something?" Darken asked, swallowing the sour taste in his mouth. "I certainly didn't come to you." He made a sharp gesture towards the locked door.

"I was going to ask about who should be promoted into General Warriman's position." Kahlan said, still eyeing him.

"I thought your Seeker and General Warriman would have approved of each other more." Darken blinked. "How long did they talk before my brother decided to replace him?"

"General Warriman was killed by rebels." Kahlan's lips twitched. "According to his lieutenant that is. I'm not sure how far to trust that one."

"Don't promote him. I'll give you a list of names to look over." Thoughts of Trimack sank back into the corners of Darken's mind.

Kahlan nodded decisively. "You have more to say, say it."

"Might I arrange an audience between you, Lady Oria, and myself?" Darken asked respectfully.

"You may," Kahlan said cautiously.

"Thank you, milady." Darken bowed slightly. The door was very firm when it shut behind Kahlan.

***

Kahlan sat at the main table in the great hall of the People's Palace. Over the last month, the hall had slowly filled with the scent and sound of dozens of soldiers, nobles, and retainers. The seating arrangements were rotated so that rivals often sat with one another. The tables were arranged into a U shape facing the doors. Near the doors were two rows of more tables that had been brought in to accommodate hangers on who weren't important enough to sit with the ruling class but weren't servants and so weren't assigned places during the hours when the servants ate. All seats faced toward the Lord Rahl. If anyone tried to hide his or her face, it would be immediately obvious. The servants traveled around the interior of the square. No one was allowed to stand behind the guests except their own servants. No one at all was allowed to be behind Lord Rahl. The effect was like sitting in the middle of a garden of human flowers, all turned toward the sun of Lord Rahl.

The clink and clatter of goblets, cutlery, and crockery was loud enough to drown out whispers unless the whisperer spoke directly into the ear of the recipient. That was too straightforward a subterfuge for this group. The inconsequential talk rose and fell around Kahlan without intruding on her thoughts. She sat serenely and let it all wash over her.

The groups were obvious to Kahlan who was used to picking out people used to working with one another. Lord Winter haven and his retinue were the loudest, all but daring the others to respond in kind. Lord Callum and his daughter sat quietly at one of the tables midway between the doors and the head. They didn't even have a retinue. Kahlan made a mental note to look into their situation again. General Grix sat next to Lord Winterhaven as they had since the night Grix had arrived. Kahlan understood why Darken and the Mord-Sith expressed more worry about Grix than all the rest combined. Even generals who would have gone their own way if given a choice were wary of the man. He had a reputation for being canny on the battlefield and being unusually intelligent about his underhanded dealings. Kahlan still wasn't convinced that he was a bigger danger than Lord Winterhaven.

Winterhaven made Kahlan's stomach turn. He was one of those people that Kahlan had needed to get to know before she truly loathed him. When all she had known about him were the reports that he was one of Darken's favorites and known for having exorbitant taxes, even by D’Haran standards she had felt a general dislike and, when she was honest with herself, hatred. Having met the man in person, she found him to be odious on a personal level as well as a political one. The term vainglory fit him so well that Kahlan almost wondered if sometime in the future his name would be used as its synonym. On top of that, he made it clear that all he cared about was whether he got what he wanted. He defined justice by the size of his share. Kahlan knew that if he had been a monarch in the Midlands before the D'Harans invaded the Midlands Council would have turned him out. The only question would have been whether to execute him after Confessing him.

Putting the General and the Lord next to each other made a certain sort of sense. Mistress Cara claimed that there was a rivalry between the Generals and the Lords. Kahlan could see that well enough. The Lords saw supremacy as their right and the Generals as upstarts while the Generals viewed the few remaining Lords as useless relics and themselves as true servants of the Empire. Of the Lords, only Winterhaven had any real power. Most had more power than Lord Callum did but not by much. As far as status went, Grix and Winterhaven were evenly matched within their camps, had every reason to hate each other, and were incompatible on a personal level. Sitting them next to each other should prevent them from gaining allies by forcing them to focus on one another. Kahlan had the sinking feeling it wasn't working. 

Grix and Winterhaven still kept growling at each other but there was something off about it. It was still entirely heartfelt but there was too much care taken for timing, too many sidelong glances. While any court was an exercise in spending life on stage this was not the same as Kahlan's blank mask. 

Her eyes sought Darken at his place at the very foot of the tables. He wore nondescript clothing in deliberate contrast with the wealth and finery around him. The only expensive item he was wearing was the Rada'Han. No one was going to mistake that for a sign of favor. He looked up at her and her breath caught in her throat as his eyes met hers. Unbidden, the image of him under her while she rode him rose in her mind. It was a relief when a servant passed between the two of them, breaking the contact. Kahlan turned to Richard and began to make inconsequential small talk.

***

General Trimack observed his camp with a careful eye. It was no accident that his troops were the best in D'Hara. Good troops required a leader who cared about the men. The Dragon Corps chose from among veterans of the other armies. Plenty of soldiers applied to be one of the elite; not just for the prestige but because the Dragon Corps was better paid than any other group of soldiers. Better paid and always paid on time.

Still, General Trimack was the one who had final say about who was and who wasn't Dragon Corps material. Given that the Dragon Corps's original purpose was to guard the Lord Rahl Trimack made sure his men capable and prepared both in body and in character to do so. That was why the first thing Trimack had set his troops to doing was digging out latrines. He desperately wished they could set to work digging out defensive positions but that might be seen as aggressive. 

If there was anything Trimack had learned from serving two Rahls it was that being seen as the aggressor could be deadly dangerous. That was why he had stayed away until summoned and once summoned kept his men outside the Palace. Sometimes he ate with the other generals but for the most part, he ate in camp with his men. He kept his men busy so they couldn't cause trouble and kept his head down. And waited.

Lord Richard favored Lord Panis in appearance. Far more so than Darken did. Trimack hoped the same held true for character. He'd only caught a glimpse of Darken since Lord Richard's rise to power. The man had appeared as self possessed as ever but there'd been a worn look around his eyes. Trimack was not content with that. So long as Lord Richard allowed his half-brother to live Trimack would remain silent no matter how it galled him to do so. The twisted, evil thing Darken had become deserved something far worse than death, worse than the regular humiliation Lord Rahl heaped on him. As far as Trimack was concerned, no horror the Keeper could visit on Darken would be enough.

Since nothing would ever be enough, Trimack was willing to settle for what he had. Darken had never been able to deal with being embarrassed even when he was a child. Satisfying though it might be to watch the Mord-Sith take care of Darken this was probably more effective. 

He took a deep breath and nodded to Captain Frannick. The tents were up and in straight, orderly rows. The latrines were far enough from camp to not poison the water. Wine was rationed out sparingly enough to avoid temptation among those soldiers who were inclined to overindulge. The Lord Rahl was in power and staying in the People's Palace. Things were as close to right as they had been since Lord Panis's death.


	4. Chapter 3

"Soldiers!" Mark shouted as he ran down the street. "Soldiers!" He skidded around a corner, nearly colliding with Laura. 

Chase grabbed the boy by his shoulders. "Where?" he asked intensely.

Jennsen started to follow but Chase turned and motioned for her to stay put. She watched Chase and Laura turn the corner with a sinking feeling in her stomach. "I'll tell Emma!" she shouted, trusting that he could hear her. She slowly navigated the muddy streets back to the house. Her house. Emma and Chase's younger children were in the kitchen.

"We're having potatoes for dinner tonight," Emma's smile fell away as she looked up. "Jennsen? What's wrong?" She quickly wiped her hands on her apron.

"You know how Mark's always climbing around the garrison walls whenever he gets the chance? He spotted soldiers. Chase went to go see. Laura too." Jennsen's face and voice were blank. Her fingertips tingled strangely. She was short of breath even though she hadn't run. Each sensation hit her senses like spikes being driven into her mind. 

"Sit," Emma pulled out a chair. 

"Richard wouldn't send troops here." Jennsen said quietly as she dropped into her chair.

"No, he wouldn't." Emma said with complete certainty. 

A distant part of Jennsen thought it was strangely fitting that Emma who worried so much over her family was so thoroughly calm when she knew the danger they were facing. "So whose are they?" She gratefully accepted the glass of hot cider that Emma offered her. "Could they be coming for me? I don't mean to sound selfish but what else is there in Brennidon that would make someone send soldiers?" She looked up at Emma, half hoping for an answer.

"Lee, go help your brother pack," Emma told the children firmly. "The three of you should head out the gate now before the soldiers get here. Wait in the woods until Chase, Laura or I come to get you. I may send Laura out to stay with you when she gets back." She turned away and pulled out a bag. As she put bread, cheese, and dried fruit in it, Jennsen realized that she and Chase had been preparing for this. "Can you take care of them, Jennsen?"

Jennsen wanted to cry and shake her head. Instead, she nodded slightly. "I learned a lot."

"I know you have," Emma said kindly. "Lee and Lars aren't ignorant either. The biggest problem will be if they get a mind to track you with dogs. We won't be able to hide which room was yours. So if you hear hounds, listen to Lee and Lars."

Lee and Lars came down with their own packs and solemn expressions. Emma knelt in front of them and hugged them each in turn. "Your father and I will join you as soon as we can."

Jennsen stood and took the third pack that Lars shyly offered her as well as the bag of food Emma had prepared. "We'll do our best."

"I know," Emma kissed her younger children on their foreheads and then surprised Jennsen by doing the same to her. "Go. Keep your wits about you and you'll be safe."

Nodding desperately, Jennsen fled the house that had come to feel like home.

***

Kahlan sat in a private room with a large window. The light streaming in was bright enough that there was no need for lamps or candles. It was also high enough that anyone attempting to escape by jumping out the window would be lucky to get no worse than broken ankles. Next to Kahlan, Darken Rahl was rubbing his fingers against his lips. The gesture gave Kahlan an unsettled feeling in her abdomen.

The knock on the door was firm enough to be heard clearly without being overwhelming. "Come in," Darken said before Kahlan had a chance.

Rather than waste time glaring at Darken, Kahlan examined the visitor. She was dressed in mourning from head to toe so Kahlan's first impression was not of her face but of her build. Kahlan doubted the woman would come up to her shoulder and despite the excellent tailoring of her dress the noblewoman still couldn't pass herself off as dainty though demure might describe her appearance.

"Mother Confessor Kahlan Amnell, this is Lady Oria Warriman. Lady Oria Warriman this is Mother Confessor Kahlan Amnell." Darken fixed the woman an icy glare. "I expect you to show her the courtesy due a woman of her station." Darken made a flipping motion with his fingers.

Oria obediently removed her veil before curtsying. The artfully applied makeup wasn't enough to disguise the fact that her eyes were too small and her nose was too prominent for her to ever be considered pretty. She wore her hair back in black, glossy braids that coiled on top of her head, drawing attention to the sharp angles of her face. Her thin-lipped mouth was set in an easy smile but her pale blue eyes held an eerily familiar expression. The thing that surprised Kahlan the most was that Oria appeared only one or two years shy of thirty.

"Greetings, Lady Oria. How are you enjoying your stay at court?" Kahlan asked with an air of polite interest.

"It's been keeping me busy." Oria spoke in a pleasant alto. She folded her gloved hands in front of her. "How may I serve you or my former master?"

"And. It's 'and' Oria." Darken said sharply.

"Apologies." Oria curtsied again.

"Darken arranged this meeting. I was curious so I allowed it." Kahlan said, tacking on the last part to try to feel in control of the situation again.

"How are things in the eastern lands?" Darken asked in the same tone of voice he'd had when he explained a point of government he thought was particularly clever. When Oria paused, he rapped his knuckles on the table. "Full report."

"Mother Confessor," Oria curtsied again and launched into a detailed description of political and economic dealings in the lands east of the People's Palace. 

Fifteen minutes later, Kahlan waved her to a halt. Ignoring the D'Haran woman, Kahlan turned to look at Darken's smirking face. "What exactly are you up to?"

"Lady Oria is my spymaster." Darken said, satisfaction evident in every line of his body.

"One of," Oria corrected in the same tone she'd reported in. "I suspect there are at least three others." At Darken's flicker of irritation, her smile went from merely a show of good will to genuinely amused. "Part of the courtesy my betters are due is the truth."

"Yes, yes." Darken waved away her words and spoke to Kahlan. "Lady Oria is the only one present at the moment. She should be very useful in helping to sift through all the mail your guests are generating. She has many talents you might find interesting."

Kahlan refused to be distracted. "I thought your Mord-Sith did all of your information gathering."

"Sometimes I want to know what a man is doing without disrupting his life or the lives of his neighbors." Darken shrugged easily, showing no sign of remorse about the large number of people he'd ordered tortured.

"I suppose you want something in return." Kahlan kept her tone pleasant.

"I'd like the Rada'Han off," Darken said playfully.

"Out of the question." Kahlan said flatly, resolving not to let him get to her.

"Even after such a stunning display of trust as this?" Darken pouted mockingly. "If this doesn't show my loyalty, what would?"

"While I have no doubt that you do truly want that collar off, I can't help but think that a man of your intelligence would know that I certainly wouldn't give you that at this time." Kahlan smiled, less angry than she would have thought. "So what is it you're angling for?"

"It's spring. I'd like to spend time in my garden." Darken said lightly. He swept his arm toward the window in a gesture better suited to the hanging sleeves of his official robes. "The sun is shining and all the green, growing things are coming out. Before it's too full of weeds, I'd like to tend my flowers." He gave her a look of such innocence that Kahlan knew he was mocking her. "Such a gift of trust as I've just given you... what do you think it's worth?"

"I think only time can tell that." Kahlan countered. "Just because you've given her up doesn't mean she'll cooperate with us." Kahlan allowed a smirk to play with the corners of her eyes. "And whether she will or not, I'm sure you already know." She gave Darken a real smile. "I'll talk it over with Richard and Zedd."

"I can hardly ask for more than that, can I?" Darken stretched, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"You could ask." Kahlan's voice was a half octave lower than usual. "But could you live with the consequences?"

"Not asking has its consequences as well." A hint of sadness crept into Darken's voice.

Kahlan felt certain he was up to something. He expected her to know that so what he wanted could be blindingly obvious. She propped her chin on one hand and studied him. "If you're sure, then ask. I promise to do nothing worse than deprive you of my company."

That surprised a laugh out of Darken. "The next time we're alone, I will."

She glanced at Oria who was staring at the ceiling with a perfectly neutral expression. Kahlan supposed that working for Darken would make being ignored seem of little consequence.

"I'm sorry about your husband." Darken broke the awkward silence.

"Thank you." Oria said quietly. 

"Did you have anything to do with his death?" Darken asked pleasantly.

"No." Oria answered in the same tone of voice.

"Should I believe you?" Darken stared at her intently.

"On this you should believe me absolutely." The light through the window made Oria's shadow twist sinuously as she turned suddenly. "I was quite fond of him and had no reason to wish him dead."

"True. You've always been extremely reasonable." Darken said with a smirk.

If it had been anyone other than Darken Rahl Kahlan would have thought that statement was a compliment. Coming from Darken it was derisive. "Thank you for your time, Lady Oria." Kahlan stood, shaking wrinkles out of her skirt.

"My pleasure, milady." Oria smiled happily.

Every ounce of Kahlan’s training told her that the spymaster was enjoying herself. She didn't know the woman well enough to know whether that was a good thing. She watched Oria put her veil back on and curtsy before leaving. The rustle of her dress faded and Kahlan closed the door.

"How many more are there?" Kahlan demanded coldly.

"Three," Darken answered promptly. After a long pause he sighed. "The other one is too ill to travel." Another long pause caused Darken to touch his lips again. "None of them would come here for fear of their lives."

"Lady Oria did." Kahlan noted calmly.

"All the nobles were invited. She had no choice." Darken said simply.

Kahlan stared at him for a long moment. "You of course won't object if someone is always present to help you in the garden."

"Of course not." Darken smiled bitterly.

***

General Trimack nodded courteously to Lord Rahl. "Thank you for granting me this audience, Lord Rahl." He spoke with real enthusiasm.

"You're the third to ask," Richard noted, concern in his voice. "The first was trying to recruit me into getting rid of his political enemies. The second tried to pin me down and have her way with me. I'm hoping you're going to try something new."

"Yes, my lord." Trimack wasn't sure whether to smile or not. "I'm here to see what plans you have for me and my men. We get restless between assignments." Trimack hesitated for the barest instant. "I can tell you things about your father. He wasn't what the people from the Midlands make him out to be."

"I've heard things about my father already," Richard smiled a polite refusal.

"I don't mean what you would have heard from Lord Darken," Trimack said, his tone slightly defensive. Politeness cost nothing but it still grated to refer to the brat by his title.

"I'll keep it in mind," Richard brushed his words aside. "You're in charge of the Dragon Corps. You know them the best. What do you suggest I do with them?"

"The Dragon Corps was formed to be bodyguards for the Lord Rahl. We recruit only the best. We are the steel to protect the Lord Rahl when his magic won't." General Trimack said proudly. "Nothing against the Mord-Sith but they're best used against opponents with magic. In battle, it's more useful to have soldiers."

"If Lord Rahl is supposed to be so powerful, then why does he need so many bodyguards?" Richard asked. Scorn emphasized the word 'many.'

"Great men attract enemies," General Trimack didn't raise his hackles. Darken had said far worse things. "Even great men can be overwhelmed if they try to work alone. The Mord-Sith and Dragon Corps insure that doesn't happen."

"If you're supposed to be bodyguards then why was it that every time I met your men they were nowhere near Darken Rah?" Richard asked. Trimack was certain he heard a note of challenge in the young Lord's voice. It reminded him in no small way of how Lord Panis sometimes spoke.

"Lord Darken didn't trust us." Trimack folded his hands behind his back to hide just how agitated the subject made him. "He sent my men after little boys and on treasure hunts. He kept us from our duty." Trimack stopped as he realized he'd allowed himself to show more anger than he'd intended. "My Lord," he said by way of apology. He shrugged to loosen his shoulders.

"To be honest, I don't exactly trust you either." Richard smiled slightly. "Whenever I've seen your troops they've been either smashing things or running errands for Darken Rahl." Richard sighed. "But you came to me and you've been honest with what you know. How do you feel about following orders from the Mother Confessor?"

Trimack flinched. "If my Lord commands it."

"How would your men feel about obeying the Mother Confessor?" Richard pressed.

"My men don't like magic. If they had to work alongside her they could most likely become accustomed as they are to working with the Mord-Sith." Trimack answered as honestly as he could. Lying to the Lord Rahl was never a good idea, no matter who he was. He huffed out a breath. "Whatever my Lord commands to be done, I will make it so."

"That's a no." Richard sighed. "Would they obey a Wizard, Zedd?"

"They'd obey me if I relayed his orders." Trimack kept his opinions on The Wind of Death to himself. Badmouthing the Lord Rahl's grandfather would get him nowhere even if the old man made his skin crawl.

"I need people I can rely on to obey orders. I trust Kahlan and Zedd absolutely. Consider any orders from them to be orders from me." Richard said, no room for argument in his tone.

Trimack was politic enough to suppress his wince. "Yes, my Lord."

***

Cara pelted down the hall, her boots thumping against the polished stone floor. The shriek they made as she skidded into the dining hall made the fine hairs on her neck stand straight up. Cara had no difficulty shouldering aside an aide, a Lord, and three servants to reach the circle of Mord-Sith.

In the middle of the circle was young brunette in fancy dress bawling. An older man stood just outside the circle, watching her with a stricken expression. Cara felt a sense of disgust as she finally understood what the young woman was whimpering. "I just touched him."

The Mother Confessor approached the circle, moving swiftly but with dignity. "Let me speak with her."

The Mord-Sith slowly parted to allow Kahlan into the circle. The candles brought out a shine in the heavy fabric of her white dress and her long, dark hair. Cara moved over to get a better view. Then she noticed the dead man on the floor. His head was tilted back to show the mark on his neck where an Agiel had been pressed against his throat until he died. On seeing the corpse, Cara realized she could smell it too. The smell of his waste was hidden under the perfumes but still present.

"I just touched him," The brunette sobbed again. She flinched away from Kahlan but the Mother Confessor firmly took her hands.

"I know," Kahlan spoke gently. "You have a gift, Annabelle. A wonderful gift. Come with me and we'll talk about it."

"What if I-" Annabelle protested.

"You can't hurt me like that," Kahlan said softly. "I'm like you." Kahlan led the girl gently away, pausing only to glare at the Mord-Sith until they moved.

"Lord Callum. We need to talk." Lord Rahl said coldly.

Following Lord Rahl, Cara inserted herself into his cluster of bodyguards. When Lord Rahl looked over the Mord-Sith he gestured for her to follow into the room. She would have preferred for a second to be available but Callum was not a young man and looked like all the fight had been kicked out of him already. She took her post by the heavy wooden door and with a professionally blank face, tilted her chin up and stared fixedly at the wall.

"Your daughter is a Confessor. Why didn't you tell her?" Richard asked without preamble.

"I didn't want her to hurt anyone." Callum said. Her peripheral vision showed her that he had folded his hands and was staring at them. "I kept her away from anyone she might hurt. Until you called us."

"What kind of life is that?" Richard demanded.

"What kind of life would it be to tell her what manner of monster she was? She couldn't help it. She was just a child." Callum grimaced. "My child. May the Keeper take Josephine to his lowest chamber."

"How can you say such things about your own child?" Cara had no doubt the horror in Richard's voice was real.

"Because they're true." Callum said despairingly.

"But she's your daughter." Richard persisted.

"She's her mother's daughter too." Callum said. "I tried not to see it. Nevertheless, it's there. Today proved that beyond any shred of doubt. Or hope." He looked up at Lord Rahl. "My Lord, she- This is not the way I wanted it. I tried to do right by her. I kept her warm. I kept her fed. I gave her pretty things. She stole my love and I let her. I should have killed her the moment her mother's poxy, Keeper spawned spell released me."

Cara risked a glance at Lord Rahl. The shock and horror in his eyes made her curious. Callum was weak in her eyes. He had seen the necessary steps and had allowed his feelings to sway him from that course. Such weakness reminded her of her own father.

"Killed her?" Richard asked incredulously.

"I had her in my arms. I was going to do it. Then I looked at her and she was my daughter. My blood." Callum gulped. "So I shut her up in the tower. I pretended it was no different than if she were a sickly child." Cara had heard that tone of voice from prisoners before. Men who had so long burdened themselves that telling even an unfriendly audience was a relief. Men too weak to care that they were signing their death warrants in their desire for an illusion of freedom.

"Why did her mother Confess you?" Richard asked after a long moment.

"We attacked a village. They had a Confessor. During the battle she Confessed me." Callum sounded like a man describing his own mortal wound. "I would that she had killed me."

Lord Rahl frowned harshly. "You attacked her."

"And all I would have done was kill her. She-" Callum's lips twisted bitterly "While she used me the way you would an animal. Anything I had wasn't mine, it was hers. A house. A child. My very life. The lives of my people. My love." He barked a laugh. "The great and mighty punisher of scoundrels and knaves was a base thief."

Richard moved rapidly and began pacing. "Why do you say that?" he asked finally.

"She did not earn what she took from me." Callum answered simply. "What else is the definition of a thief?"

"That's not where all your anger comes from." Richard stated flatly. "Don't lie to me," he warned.

"I gave my heart to another woman. We were to be married. It broke her heart. Of all the things from that time I wish I could take back, that is the one I wish most fervently." Callum said without shame.

"I can understand that," Richard frowned thoughtfully. "But to blame your child for her mother's-"

"I don't blame her for what Josephine did." Callum interrupted sharply without any hint of politeness or apology. Cara placed her right hand on its Agiel. "I keep in mind that she is by blood capable of the same crimes. I have a duty to protect my people from her. They can't be trusted. Thieves the lot of them."

"For the ninth time this week; I trust Mother Confessor Kahlan Amnell. You will obey her when she gives orders." Lord Rahl said, steel in his voice.

"Of course," Callum said bitterly. "If we don't she can take everything from us."

"It's a gift," Richard said.

"Have you ever been Confessed?" Callum asked, the first hint of fire in his voice.

"That doesn't matter," Richard snapped. "I've never been executed either."

"Some horrors need to be experienced to be believed." Callum said darkly. "Anything I had was hers. She didn't even have to ask."

"Because you loved her," Richard scowled. "I know how it works."

"It isn't love if it vanishes the moment she dies." Callum said harshly, leaning forward.

Cara put her Agiel between the two men. "Not one step more."

Callum glared at her, too fey to care that she could make him scream in agony without dying for weeks if she so chose. "So what would you have done if it was your life that was destroyed?" his gaze blazed toward Richard. "I couldn't take another wife. Not with Annabelle to look after. I couldn't do anything that might leave Annabelle unguarded." Callum looked to be on the verge of tears. "I couldn't leave my mess for someone else to clean up. It was my burden to bear."

"You could have sent her to Aydindril." Richard said stonily. "Confessors need training. You endangered your people and her. And look what it brought you. Years of hiding and loneliness for her. Years of shame for you. And today's incident. It was all avoidable. Your fear caused this."

"Yes. It could all have been so much easier if I'd just embraced it and let her join the ranks of her mother's fellows. She would have untold victims and have been hunted by D'Harans but I wouldn't have had to worry about it." Lord Callum glared at Lord Rahl. "I may not be a good man or even a mediocre one. But I have never foisted my duty on others."

"Take him to the dungeon," Richard commanded. "Don't train him. Just let him think about his choices."

"I've had close to two decades to think about my choices. I do regret not killing her." Callum slumped again.

"Get him out of my sight," Richard shouted.

***

Darken Rahl stood in his garden and smiled happily. There were too many weeds and a few plants had died from improper watering. If it had been in perfect condition this would be boring. He dug his toes into the dirt as he pulled on a particularly stubborn weed.

"How are you?" Richard asked awkwardly. Darken had heard him approach but ignored him, giving Lord Rahl the chance to open the conversation as he wanted. After all, Darken knew he had the upper hand in this discussion.

"As well as can be expected." Darken wiped his hands on his trousers as he stood. He grabbed his shirt from where it hung on the lower branches of a tree and used it to wipe his face before turning to look at his half brother. "I eat in front of everyone, wearing this." Darken pointed to the Rada'Han. "I act the secretary at meetings of government. I have deported myself with all the courtesy and humility I can. Must we talk of this in front of the women who used to be my bodyguards?"

"You know what I want to talk to you about?" Richard asked warily.

"You're in the clothes you came here in, wearing your sword, and frowning like you're thinking hard. You've come to the last place here that is in any part mine." Darken smiled slightly as a note of mockery crept into his voice. "You want to talk about Kahlan."

Richard recoiled sharply. He looked around the garden for a moment before gesturing nervously to a group of trees that provided privacy. He walked stiff-legged to the artfully grown copse, not quite giving Darken his back but not letting the former Lord Rahl get there first. "I know she was your prisoner for many months."

"Yes," Darken answered quietly. As strange as it might seem, the less he said right now the more control he had. Forcing Richard to say the words himself was a victory.

"She doesn't talk about it but I know she thinks about it." Richard rubbed the pommel of his sword. "Did you..."

"Did I what?" Darken tilted his head inquisitively, an innocent expression on his face.

"Take her." Richard said after a long pause.

"I took her and brought her here." Darken answered.

"That's not what I meant." Richard growled. "Did you force yourself on her? You must have. Why else would you want her? You took the potion and the way you looked at her."

"She came willingly to my bed." Darken said.

"Liar!" Richard said loudly as he drew his sword.

Darken smiled. If Richard struck him now, then he would be striking a defenseless man in cold blood for a crime he had not committed. If Richard didn't strike then Darken would have more opportunities to strike at Richard. Someday Richard would show weakness. "You are the Seeker of Truth. Surely you know better than that."

Richard flared his nostrils and with obvious effort, sheathed his sword. "Why would she do that?"

"Ask her." Darken played with his little finger. "She's the one who did it."

"I'm asking you!" Richard scowled.

"I can answer many things, but not that. I could tell you what it was like but I'm not a mind reader." Darken shrugged easily. "I don't know if she was curious. If she was merely tricking me into letting my guard down. I don't know how much or how little she enjoyed it. All I can say is that she initiated it and she was not a passive participant."

The blow landed firmly on Darken's jaw, making his teeth click together. Richard nursed his fist and glared. "You are a monster." He bit every word out.

"Would she let me have any time in my garden if I'd done that to her? I don't need to force women into my bed." Darken tenderly touched the bruise on his jaw. It was going to be a colorful one. "That you think I do says more about you than me, baby brother." He found himself suddenly in the air and outside the copse. Hitting the ground knocked the air from his lungs and he lay gasping for breath. He was eventually aware that Richard was still among the trees.

With a groan, Darken stood and staggered back in. He ignored the looks from the Mord-Sith who clearly weren't worried about their Lord Rahl. Seeing as he was on the outside and looking worse for wear, he couldn't blame them. He staggered back into the artificial grove to find Richard gasping on the ground. Kneeling over his brother, Darken smiled. "Should I venture a guess? You had a headache. Now it's gone."

"What did you do to me?" Richard demanded, scrambling back.

"Me? Nothing. What can I do to you? I'm wearing a Rada'Han." Darken snorted. "No. You did this to yourself."

"What?" Richard gaped at Darken.

"You're a Wizard, little brother." Darken laughed. "Like me, like our father and his father and his father and so on and so forth."

"I'm nothing like you." Richard frowned and stood abruptly, brushing off his clothes.

"Of course not." Darken grunted and stood. "I'm the talented one."

"Get back to work," Richard scowled and stalked away. His contingent of bodyguards went with him.

Darken turned his face towards the sun and savored the feeling. With a smile, he knelt and pulled another weed.

***

The bodies hung off the tree like rotten fruit. Each of them was mutilated but not like they'd been in battle. The cuts were deliberate and clean. Several were missing hands while others were merely missing fingers. The smell permeated the air thickly enough that Alana nearly gagged at three paces.

"What in the Creator's name..." Alana murmured. She bent close to the sign tacked to the tree. "Code of Aydindril? No one's used that in years."

"Mistress?" Orsk asked from behind her. Alana had left him alive because she could use a guardian on the roads these days. He was a large man and even before she'd Confessed him, he'd never been very bright. Under Confession, he was biddable and to her mind, the best protector she could hope for.

She squinted at the sign for a moment longer. "We're going to Aydindril, Orsk. To go see Prince Fyren."


	5. Chapter 4

It was a perfect day. The sun was shining brilliantly off the white stone. Kahlan had originally assumed the People's Palace was made of marble. The color and grain were right but if the Palace really were three thousand years old, then marble should have had wear patterns. Marble was a beautiful stone but soft. Nothing about the Palace proper looked like time had touched it. There were sections no one had made any attempt to clean or live in for centuries. It was a beautiful, timeless piece of architecture that Zedd grudgingly acknowledged was a work of art as well as wizardry.

Over the millennia, the various men who had held the title of Lord Rahl had made additions here and there; a hidden work chamber, a secret passage, a tower of luxurious cells. Zedd claimed that the underlying structure of the castle remained the same, spelled to remain unchanging even as its masters came and went. It was a city unto itself with dwellings allotted for servants, soldiers, noble guests, their entourages, visitors, Mord-Sith, musicians, and all the commerce needed to support a city. The Palace was so large that even with all the people Richard had invited it still felt under populated. Footsteps echoed just a little too loud. Shadows were just a little too deep.

This courtyard was still filled today, glowing softly in the afternoon light. Thousands of people were packed into the gently sloping rhombus. This courtyard had never gone out of use. The commoners stood shoulder to shoulder, nudging and shoving as they tried to get a better view. Ringing the courtyard were balconies to hold all the upper class spectators stood in the bright dress uniforms, dresses, and suits. Their jewels winked and glittered under the cloudless sky.

Mother Confessor Kahlan Amnell stood in the center of the courtyard, dressed in her gleaming white dress and hood. She took a deep breath and identified the nobles she could by their color schemes. Beside her stood Richard. He raised his arms and the crowd fell quiet except for the susurration of so many people breathing. She heard nothing in her ears except her pulse as they brought Lord Callum to the block.

Sometime ago in D'Hara's history, men and women facing execution had been allowed to give their finals words before losing their heads. That practice had ended four centuries ago with a set of disastrous riots. Lord Callum was given no chance to speak. Kahlan didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until after her trembling hand had grasped Callum's throat and sent her power rushing into him.

Kahlan understood Richard's reasoning. She did. D'Harans would be reluctant to accept Confessors under any circumstances. The strangeness of having the previous Lord Rahl alive at the same time as the current was unusual. A Lord Rahl who wasn't raised in D'Hara was even more difficult for them to accept. Among the upper classes that was. The masses believed in the legend of the Seeker or were indifferent for the most part. 

In the six weeks since the bulk of the court had moved into the Palace, Richard had learned just how deep the mistrust went. It wouldn't be enough to replace the Generals with their subordinates or their subordinates' subordinates. He needed them to obey him. He needed them to accept his orders. In addition, he'd made it so they needed to accept hers.

She understood. She did what was necessary. She tried not to see her father's face as she looked at Callum. He was a better man than her father was. He could have used Annabelle the way her father had used her and Dennee. It would have been easy to start with an infant. He had not. He had not even thought of it. As aristocrats went, he wasn't bad. He cared about his people. But he'd never accept her. Not of his own volition. And his refusal was treason.

"Stand very still," Kahlan ordered in a carrying voice. She forced herself to watch as Lord Callum didn't so much as twitch when the headman picked up the axe. Callum stood stock still until his head was severed from his body.

***

Trimack had never had much use for Callum. It wasn't that he disliked the man. He hadn't known enough to like or dislike the lord. What he was firm on was his opinion on Confessors and women in general if he really thought about it. Which he usually didn't. Right now, the thought was as difficult to avoid as a cavalry charge.

He stalked down a wide, brightly lit hall that led to the garden the brat was working in. He barely noticed the pair of Mord-Sith keeping an eye on Darken. In this place, they were part of the scenery. He'd watch his tongue because it was always wise to be wary in the Palace. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"To what are you referring?" Darken asked calmly as he looked up from a bed of white flowers. Their scent reminded Trimack of clover.

"Callum had a Confessor in his tower for how many years?" Trimack growled.

"Lord Callum," Darken placed a slight emphasis on the title, "was a quiet man who kept to himself and didn't cause problems."

"Which should have been a warning sign," Trimack shot back.

"I had other things on my mind." Darken calmly broke a deadhead off a bush and moved to trimming it into a rectangle. They didn’t trust him with pruning shears so he did it by snapping off the fresh growth with his fingers. "He could have taken over and I would have been none the wiser but that wasn't the sort of man he was. Losing his precious Duchess broke any ambition he ever had." He finally fixed his bright blue eyes on Trimack. "Besides, who are you to question me?"

"I am a general and you're a prisoner." Trimack reminded him.

"Right," Darken sneered. "Just the way you always wanted it, isn't it?"

"It's a lot better than you deserve," Trimack responded.

"The death I gave him was better than he deserved too." Darken glared. There was no need to specify whom he was talking about.

"He loved you!" Trimack realized he'd begun to shout and lowered his voice to a strained whisper. "He loved you more than he loved anyone else."

"No. He didn't." Darken refused to look away from the older man. "There were times you weren't there. You didn't see what he was like then."

"He adored you. He doted on you." Trimack insisted.

"You. Weren't. There." Darken ground out. "And when you were, he was different. And that was worse."

"You broke his heart, dabbling like that." Trimack said hoarsely. There was something compelling about Darken's voice. It wasn't magic, the brat was collared. He'd always been unusually persuasive even as a boy. Like his mother. Trimack's mouth tightened.

"You're thinking of her." Darken said softly. "I always could tell. Both of you would look at me and you'd get this look in your eyes." Darken snarled at him. "I had to protect myself. You don't know what it was like when you were away. You didn't want to know." Contempt laced Darken's words. "Instead, you helped him find that little tramp so he could insure my doom."

"We had to stop you somehow." Trimack said without a trace of guilt. "Whatever your delusions about your father, what you were doing was evil."

"He's the one who wanted powerful children." Darken said with a sadistic smile.

"Your mother was a mistake-"

"On that we agree." Darken interjected.

"-but you chose your path." Trimack finished his sentence irritably. "You chose to murder your own father. You chose to kill all those children. You chose those experiments with the Shadow People. All of that was you. Not Lord Panis. Not me. Not your little friends. You."

It was satisfying to see Darken flinch. The lack of contrition was galling but the flash of fear in Darken's eyes more than made up for it. "What do you want from me?" The hint of lost little boy in the set of his shoulders was so unlike his father that Trimack felt something in his chest relax.

"Why don't you ever admit when you've done something wrong?" Trimack glowered.

"Why don't you ever admit that Panis had flaws?" Darken emphasized his father's given name with a contempt that set Trimack's teeth on edge.

"He was a man," Trimack said defensively. "All men have flaws."

"What were they?" The accusation in Darken's eyes reminded Trimack of Darken's mother.

"It's wrong to speak ill of the dead," Trimack said gruffly. He realized that somewhere he'd lost the initiative. It was a familiar feeling from his dealings with the House of Rahl. Rather than softening his feelings towards Darken it spurred his anger. That the boy could repudiate his father so thoroughly yet behave like him even after losing his title was... disgusting. "And treason to speak against Lord Rahl."

"He isn't Lord Rahl anymore." The smile in Darken's eyes sent a shiver down Trimack's spine. "His son has claimed that title."

"Does that please you?" Trimack almost added the honorific. The brat had always had an aggravating way of getting to people. Getting them to do what he wanted. Just like his mother. Well, mostly like his mother. Trimack had no doubt she hadn't wanted to die.

"Do you expect an honest answer or one you can use to trap me?" Darken smirked. "What were you hoping to get from this? I hate you. You hate me." Darken shrugged. "I know why you hate me. You refuse to know why I hate you."

"You're an ungrateful brat. What else needs to be said?" Trimack sneered.

"Precisely what I was saying," Darken deliberately turned his back. "Are you going to kill me now? You're no longer sworn to me. It wouldn't be treason. You've wanted to do it for years. Just draw your sword. It'll be easy."

Trimack gripped the hilt of his sword so hard his knuckles mottled. After several harsh breaths, he strode from the garden, back ramrod straight.

***

Cara watched the dancers. The gleam of gold and silver caught her eye as the candles' glow shifted with each turn. Each could be the sign of a knife or a vial of poison. Alternatively, she could claim she thought she saw a weapon. She had already planned how she would go about breaking each man and half the women present, the best way to remove one from the horde, and which servant might make the best casual tumble.

Eavesdropping held all the interest of watching grass grow. There were only so many times she needed to hear that the stew was a bit lumpier than it was at home or that lavender was out of fashion as a scent. No one was willing to say what was on his or her mind even when it was as obvious as the sun at noon. Whether it was Grix and Winterhaven circling each other like roosters or Oria flirting with a musician people were boringly obvious in their intent.

"Having fun?" Triana whispered in Cara's ear.

Cara smiled without showing her teeth. "I'm bored half to death. Do you have plans later?"

"I'm free," Triana smiled with cold eyes.

"I think we're being summoned," Cara said after a moment of companionable silence. She and Triana threaded their way around the edges of the crowd. People pulled away from them or maybe from their red leather uniforms and Cara made note of those who did so reluctantly. 

Richard was standing awkwardly, watching the dancers with considerably more trepidation than Cara had been. "There's some business I need to take care of."

"What do you require, my Lord?" Triana asked sweetly.

Cara turned to face the crowd. The chances that someone would attempt to rush them with a knife were low but she never felt comfortable with so many people at her back. She'd prefer not to do Lord Rahl the disrespect of showing him her back but she figured it was his fault for choosing a position where that was the only way she could keep an eye on possible angles of attack.

"I need Captain Josk, Lady Warriman and..." There was the sound of vellum sheets rubbing together. Cara shook her head slightly. "Generals Grix and Trimack and Lord Winterhaven."

After Richard informed them which room to bring the citizens to, Cara and Triana split up. Triana went to gather the military men while Cara herded the nobles. Oria came easily but Cara had to conspicuously stroke her Agiel to get Winterhaven's attention. Something would have to be done about that later. She was thinking about ways to accomplish that when she locked the doors to the meeting room. Triana had already gathered the military men inside. Cara wasn't surprised that it took her longer to get two people than for Triana to get three people. She had noticed Josk trying to cozy up to Grix and Trimack. Cara kept her lip from curling with contempt.

Richard sat at the head of a table showing signs of many repairs. Kahlan sat to his right in her heavy, white dress with her head held high and her face impassive. Zedd sat on Richard's left, staring intently at the D'Harans and looking every inch the wizard. Wizards were far from threatening to a Mord-Sith. Cara's eyes flicked to Darken back in his corner, watching everyone as intently as she did. The edges of a smirk filled his eyes briefly, making Cara pause.

"We're here to settle on- who the replacement for General Warriman- how his estate is to be disbursed." Lord Rahl stumbled over the official phrasing. "Generals, my Lord, you're here to give your opinions on... the proceedings." He gestured for them to sit and they obeyed.

The Mother Confessor gave Darken a preemptive quelling glare. Cara's former lord merely looked back at her innocently.

Richard cleared his throat awkwardly. "So if you'll just begin, Captain." He shuffled his papers. "How would you see General Warriman's... belongings divided and position filled?"

"His belongings should go to his widow of course." Captain Josk said, false magnanimity filling his voice. "His brother died two years ago so Lady Oria is the only one who has a right to them. However, she should go back to her parents' lands. A bereaved woman needs the support of her family. They'd provide for her and I know the men and the lands. I think that in all humbleness I would be the best candidate for promotion."

Lord Winterhaven snorted loudly. "Humbleness? Humility has no place in a soldier. Either a man can do the job or he can't and either way he ought to know it. It isn't arrogant or conceited for a man to know what he's capable of."

"On the other hand, you can't trust a man who comes in and tells you how great he is." Grix growled out. "Warriman's troops' record speaks for itself and the Captain is the most familiar with them."

"Let's hear what Lady Oria has to say before we start fighting." Trimack said calmly. Cara felt intrigued for the first time. The hostility between Trimack and Oria was muted but visible to Cara. That he might side with Oria seemed unlikely so Cara started coming up with ideas about what he might be trying to gain instead. And whether they would be good for her Lord.

Richard barely flicked a glance at the general before turning his gaze on Oria. "Go ahead."

"I nominate Lord Bront, my brother, for the position of master of my late husband's manor and lands." Oria spoke the old words with admirable precision. Her eyes rested on Richard's face without the faintest trace of emotion.

"This is ridiculous!" General Grix spat. "Everyone knows they aren't to be trusted." He slammed his fist on the table hard enough to rattle it against the floor. "The only reason you were ever tolerated is that you had Lord Rahl's favor." He made the word favor a dirty word. Cara thought that was particularly ironic given what she knew of Grix's idea of a good time.

"Favor?" Kahlan's head snapped up. "How so?"

"She was fostered here." Lord Winterhaven spoke before General Grix could speak. "It's an old custom. We rarely do it anymore." He steepled his fingers and didn't say aloud that there were too few Lords left to maintain the practice. "If she had been from any other family no one would have questioned Lord Darken's desire to raise up one of his mother's people. As it was, there were doubts, shall we say."

Oria folded her hands demurely and bowed her head slightly. "I would request that my family and personal business not be aired in this manner. I would speak in private with Lord Rahl and his inner circle."

"Why you little bog viper." Trimack's voice rumbled dangerously. Cara's instincts told her to pay more attention to that than the loud outrage from Lord Winterhaven and General Grix.

She sent her mind back over what she knew of Lady Oria. It wasn't much. By the time Cara had completed her training Oria had already been gone from Lord Darken's presence for over a year. Servants whispered as they always did. The soldiers and nobles gossiped as they always did. The most common version was that she had done something to offend Lord Darken but no one could determine what sort of offense would be serious enough for banishment without provoking Lord Rahl into killing her.

"My Lord, they aren't to be trusted," Trimack insisted, echoing Grix.

"We'll reconvene in two hours," Richard said dubiously and nodded to Cara and Triana. "I will listen to what Lady Oria has to say with an open mind. I would do the same for any of you."

"Open minds gather rubbish," Grix muttered on his way out.

This time it was Triana who shut the doors. She gave her lover a smug smile and stretched. Cara knew there were few people Triana hated more than Grix. In most cases Mord-Sith felt hate to be a waste of energy. Men other than Lord Rahl were generally weak creatures driven by their appetites and women other than Mord-Sith were pathetic enough to let men run right over them. Such people were worthy only of contempt. What angered Triana was the lack of respect Grix showed the Mord-Sith as a whole and that Lord Darken had never seen fit to change Grix's mind.

"Kahlan says you're a spy," Lord Rahl said bluntly, interrupting Cara's thoughts. "And you're related to Darken Rahl." He paused meaningfully. "Say something."

"I am a spymaster not a spy, my Lord." Oria said quietly. 

"You're lying," Lord Rahl glared.

"I am a spymaster as well as a spy, my Lord." Oria said in the same neutral tone. "Far more of my time is spent organizing my network and piecing together what they give me than gathering information myself." She paused a beat. "And I'm Lord Darken's third cousin twice removed."

"Why did he foster you here?" Richard demanded, pointedly ignoring Darken. 

Darken was staring at the tablet on his lap as if it held the secret to his freedom. Cara recognized the look on his face. It was one she often saw on prisoners before they completely lost the will to resist. She wasn't sure she believed it but his tension and anxiety were real enough.

"He liked the look of me. He wanted a pet spymaster." Oria spread her hands. "Beyond that, it's him you should be asking."

For as long as Cara had served Darken, he had been a man of motion. He paced his halls, moved from one castle to another, rode his horse in the open air, spent hours on sword work, gardened, and lashed out with temper and impatience whenever life thwarted him. The stillness she saw in him now was unnatural. She was surprised to realize that if she weren't Mord-Sith she might pity him at that moment.

Richard turned to look over his shoulder at his half brother. "Are you still loyal to him?"

"I am loyal to the Empire," Oria said promptly. Cara noted the tone of voice Oria used. That was the lever with which to break Oria should it become necessary. Put just the right pressure on a true believer's mind and it would shear like rotten wood.

"That isn't what I asked," Richard said testily. He folded his arms and glowered at Oria.

"You are Lord Rahl. You are the Empire. I am loyal to you." Oria said quietly.

Richard looked to Kahlan who shook her head. "You're still lying."

Oria paused for a long moment. The tendons in her neck tensed and relaxed twice. "I am reserving judgment."

"Thank you for your honesty." Richard relaxed with a visible effort. "Why do my advisers insist you and your family aren't to be trusted?" Cara mentally applauded Richard for calling the squabbling old men his advisers, communicating greater trust for them and putting the burden of explanation on Oria.

"Because of the coup," Oria said simply.

Richard looked to Zedd, his question obvious. Cara felt her hands ball into fists and from the corner of her eye, she saw Triana do the same. Any true D'Haran would know the story and that he would look to the Wind of Death for an answer was enough to make Cara wonder how best to provoke the old man into using his magic.

"Many years ago, before Darken Rahl killed his father, there was a coup. The Queen's family attempted to wrest control from Panis Rahl." Cara had the feeling Zedd was making an effort not to look at Darken. "Their failure marked the end of the peace. D'Hara needs a Lord Rahl. I believe the plan was to make the Queen's father Regent while Darken grew. Panis Rahl executed everyone in the family except a cadet branch. He killed them down to the last child, including his Queen. The rest he kept alive as an example. They were stripped of their lands and holdings and sent to live in the least fertile swamp."

"It's a bog actually," Oria said in the same quiet voice.

"I stand corrected." Zedd frowned thoughtfully. "You want your brother out of the bog."

"If it pleases you," Oria said softly. "I would like him out and I would like not to go back in. That is what Captain Josk was after, see?" Her accent roughened slightly. "If Lord Bront came to my manor I could stay with him, no shame. Nothing improper. I could return to my duties."

"Spying," Zedd put a wealth of meaning into the word. He finally faced Darken. "Why did you take her and leave her brother?"

"I don't know," Darken said distantly. "Never thought about it." He seemed to shake himself as if he'd been dreaming. "Had she asked I would have suspected she was trying to get allies outside my sphere of influence. She was more vulnerable alone."

"Why her? Why not her brother?" Curiosity and horror warred in Richard's voice. "He's your cousin too."

"She was-" Darken gestured vaguely. "More suitable."

"She looks like the Queen," Zedd said with a touch of dismissal.

"She does not," Darken shot back.

Kahlan held up her hand before the argument devolved into pure childishness. "Zedd, we can look at Oria and see what she looks like so we know how you remember the Queen. Darken, how do you remember your mother?" Cara found the softening in the Mother Confessor's face and voice very fascinating.

"Dark hair, dark eyes, her hair was a bit curly, her face was rounder," the more Darken talked the more a faint smile grew on his face. "She used to sing to me at night. Couldn't carry a tune in a bucket."

"You just described your nursemaid." Zedd raised his bushy eyebrows. 

"No," Darken shook his head in protest as the smile dropped off his face but there was no denial in his eyes. "How would you know?"

"Your father and I knew each other quite well once." Zedd said after a short pause. "I knew your mother and I saw your nursemaid."

"That- I don't remember that." Darken frowned angrily. "I'd remember that." Cara could see the realization spreading through his mind like poison spreading from a wound. She noticed that his eyes darted to Kahlan before they turned to Oria.

"I have been told I resemble her," Oria answered her cousin's unspoken question.

Kahlan cleared her throat gently. "We'll have time for this later. Meanwhile, you want your brother to take your husband's place. How long has it been since you've seen him?"

"Sixteen years," Oria answered without hesitating. "We exchange letters as often as the roads allow."

"Would he be a good leader for Warriman's troops?" Kahlan asked, looking at Darken. "Would they follow one of the aristocracy with Captain Josk around?"

"Unlikely," Darken answered, ignoring Oria's presence. "Lord Bront is practically unheard of outside the family. No reputation is sometimes worse than a bad reputation. In his case, his family reputation would make people nervous. The family reputation is... Well, my father tried to assassinate them with natural causes. There are rumors about how the survivors... escaped that fate." Darken's eyes narrowed briefly. "I'd recommend giving him a position with one of the other lords. Give him a chance to show whether he has it in him. I should have done that years ago."

For a moment, Cara thought Kahlan was going to ask Darken why he hadn't. Instead she raised her eyebrows at Richard. Cara found it strange that a woman who could enslave anyone she wished would leave someone as powerful as Richard free. Cara didn't agree with all of Denna's methods but on the subject of the Seeker they were in agreement. The more powerful the man (and occasionally woman) the better it was to break him. Not just for the prestige it brought, though that was quite nice all on its own. A Mord-Sith wouldn't leave a powerful man roaming free for the same reason a soldier wouldn't leave a good sword lying around. It would be either a waste or potentially used by an enemy. 

That Kahlan would allow Richard his freedom was a weakness that would have been unacceptable in a Mord-Sith. That they allowed Darken to live was a similar weakness. Cara's hand wrapped around her Agiel almost on its own. A First Wizard would have made quite a prize too. Strange that the Confessor hadn't taken him. Cara wondered what it would be like to break such a man. All that power at his fingertips for so many years...

Zedd's eyes met Cara's steadily. She swallowed hard while a sensation uneasily similar to fear slithered in her guts. The look in his eyes said he knew everything she'd been thinking and would be having none of it.

Richard's hands hit the table with a sound of finality. "Lord Bront will go learn from Lord Winterhaven and Captain Josk will take over from General Warriman."

"Lord Rahl is most magnanimous," Oria said seriously.

"It'll probably take another fifteen minutes to make the gentlemen feel heard," Richard smiled wryly.

"More, I'm sure," There was a faint trace of a smile in Oria's voice. "Please allow me to repay you with some advice. You have called on the military and the nobility but I see no representatives from the clergy. The Sons and Daughters of the Creator are very active in the south and I believe one of my counterparts lives in Stonewell Abbey in the north. The east tends more towards the Ministers of the Grace who are less formal but would doubtless prefer not to be snubbed if you do approach the others."

"Oria is a lay follower of the Daughters of the Creator." Darken informed them.

"I'm sorry I never thought of that," Kahlan said. "In the Midlands everyone worships the Creator of course and there are the monarchs. Most power lies with them and The Council. And us. I never thought-"

Richard was frowning. "I'll give it some thought."

Cara knew the reason Kahlan gave for why she would never Confess Richard was that she loved him. Cara looked at the pair of them and hoped she never felt that way about anyone. 

***

Darken waited in his study for dinner. At the beginning of his captivity, the desk had been dark brown with a silky smooth finish. Now he used his papers and ledgers to cover the grooves he had worn in the surface as he traced graces over and over. Without his magic, they did no good but they were a secret and they were his. He slammed his papers down, spreading them over the markings. His hands clenched uselessly as he tried to find some sense of equilibrium.

Giving up, he threw his inkpot at the wall. It dented with a clatter on the gray stone and black streaks ran down the wall. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough. With an effort, he knocked over the desk and began kicking out the drawers. The splintering sound of the wood drowned out the thoughts that kept circling around in his skull. He shouted as he hit a supporting piece of wood wrong. A distant part of his mind told him he'd broken his toe. The completely irrational thought that maybe his toe had deserved it floated up in response as he repeatedly kicked the desk with his booted heel.

By the time Kahlan opened the door the desk, secretary and chair were in flinders and Darken's shouts had faded into grunts and harsh breathing. She put her hands on her hip and raised her eyebrows. "Was it self defense?" She ignored Darken's growl without a change in expression. "Good thing none of the expensive books were in here."

"You knew," Darken growled accusingly. "You- you knew." He sat on the floor, feeling drained in a way that wasn't physical.

"It was written all over you." Kahlan nodded. If her tone had been pitying he might have found the energy to stand up and try to punch her. The subtle tones of understanding were far, far worse. He resisted the temptation to put his hands over his ears and start humming. "And this has been coming ever since you became our prisoner."

"True," Darken took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. The loss of dignity was always the worst of it. 

"Would talking about it help?" Kahlan asked, the kindness in her voice drawing razors across his mind.

"No! Yes. Maybe?" Darken started removing his boot to see to his toe. "How should I know?" He gritted his teeth and hissed as he pulled. "It's in the blood. It'll never come out."

She had taken his bloody knuckles and broken furniture in stride but the sight of his rapidly swelling and blackening toe made Kahlan wince. "We need to get something cold on that. I'm going to assume you don't want Zedd to look at it."

"Good assumption." Darken bit out. "Had to get it off before it had to be cut off." He grumbled. "There's a spell on the kitchens. A cold room." Darken stood shakily, exhaling loudly. "I can walk." He said it firmly, trying to hide that he was afraid to be left behind. He wouldn't lean on her, wouldn't beg. And he wasn't going to cower in this room.

Kahlan gave him a speculative look but shrugged her shoulders and spoke to the Mord-Sith despite whatever doubts he saw lingering in her eyes. Even hobbling he could still overpower her, hold her hostage. Then what? It always came back to that question. She gestured for him to come and he did.

He did his best to stride down the hall, looking as little as possible like a stray animal. After the first flight of stairs, he felt warm again and was able to smile. It probably wasn't a nice smile but he'd never seen the value in nice. The rhythm of walking removed the pain caused by tensing in anticipation and before he knew it, they were in the kitchens. The smells and the steam were unfamiliar and strange. He waited for Kahlan without glancing at their escort. Darken was good at ignoring people.

"Where do you want to sit?" Kahlan asked neutrally, holding a cold pack in one hand.

"You know." He told her bluntly. He hoped she did. He wasn't sure.

After seven flights of stairs and five concourses, Darken realized where Kahlan was taking him. He bore the rest in silence, trying to tell if she was serious and if she was correct. From the way his chest contracted when he looked at the courtyard, he knew that even if she was wrong she was right. 

The memorial was exactly as he remembered it. Granite and marble markers gleamed softly in the late spring sunlight. He limped over to Demmin's marker and sat gracelessly on the dirt in front of it. He hissed out a breath as the distractions of moving faded and the pain became more insistent. He put his back against the stone and sighed as Kahlan put the cold pack on his foot. "Why here?" he asked with his eyes closed.

"I didn't think you'd want to have this conversation in your garden." Kahlan said from slightly nearer than he'd expected.

"So you let me have a friend at my back. How kind." Darken made a noise halfway between a laugh and a cough. "There's plenty more furniture."

"Do you want to remember her?" Kahlan's voice held none of the irritation he'd expected.” Look in my eyes. You'll have to tell the truth."

"Yes and no." Darken finally opened his eyes to see the Mother Confessor squatting to his right instead of seated on the bench across from him. The way the sun shone on her hair was unexpectedly wonderful. "It shouldn't matter. I shouldn't be thinking about it."

"Why not?" Kahlan asked with a look that made him feel like he was being opened up and she was examining things much more private than intestines. "Learning from the past is the only way to change the future."

"Well aren't you pithy today?" Darken grumbled. When she didn't rise to the bait, he fell silent. He waited until she'd placed the cold pack on for a second time to shift into a slightly more comfortable position. "Demmin wasn't around before my mother died. I don't remember anything really. Even when I try."

"Do you want to know?" Kahlan asked.

"I don't think so," Darken shook his head, ignoring the ice in his gut. "What would be the point? She's dead. He's dead. They're all dead and gone." The fear turned to anger as he spoke. He looked into Kahlan's eyes and found that he couldn't think about what he saw there. It wasn't pity, it was compassion. He tasted bile in the back of his throat.

"Would you consider it an invasion of your privacy if I asked Lady Oria about it?" Kahlan eyes burned at him.

"Yes but I also understand why it's necessary." Darken touched his lips. "Don't tell me. I'd rather not know."


	6. Chapter 5

Jennsen could smell smoke. It had been lingering on the breeze for days. They had avoided all but the smallest hamlets but even so, they still caught occasional glimpses of soldiers on the road. Jennsen, Lars, and Lee were crouched outside an old farmhouse. The place was untouched but all the animals were restless at the smell of death and burning. Jennsen took a deep breath and walked up to the front door. She knocked firmly. They needed news in order to know which way to go. After waiting two weeks for Chase, the three of them had agreed that they needed to know more about what was happening. Chase would never forgive her if she let something happen to his children. 

An older woman opened the door. "We have no food for beggars. Move along."

"Please, ma'am." Jennsen quickly stuck her foot in the doorway. "We're not looking for food or a place to sleep. We just want to know what's going on."

"We?" The woman looked over Jennsen's shoulder at the younger two Brandstone children. "You'd best get off the road. Soldiers see a pretty, young thing like you and you'll be in a world of trouble. Come in, I'll make tea."

"Thank you, ma'am." Jennsen nodded the children into the house. The inside was sparsely furnished; a table and a collection of chairs took up most of the ground floor. Jennsen guessed that the woman slept in the attic.

"Have to be careful these days," The woman sighed. "My husband and my sons were conscripted. It's been too quiet since then. They trampled the crops on their way here too." She sniffed disapprovingly as she set a kettle over the fire.

"Conscripted by whom?" Jennsen asked, eyes wide. "We live far from here and we were going to meet up with our mother and father when we saw the soldiers." She paused. "I'm Jenny and these are Lars and Lee."

"I'm Arabelle." The woman looked from the shyly waving children to Jennsen with a raised eyebrow then deliberately shrugged. "They're Prince Fyren's troops. He's taken over Aydindril in the Mother Confessor's absence. According to the men who took my family, Prince Fyren is uniting the Midlands. He says D'Hara only got as far as they did because the Midlands were fractured and weak. He's using the Code of Aydindril. Whatever that is. Mostly seems like an excuse for torturing people if you ask me." She snorted. "They claim the Code of Aydindril used to be the law of the land. I say there's a reason they stopped."

"Who do they say this Prince Fyren is?" Jennsen asked curiously, as they waited for the water to boil.

"You'd think he was a gift from the Creator Herself the way they went on about him." Arabelle sniffed again. "He's one of the rulers come to clean up the Midlands Council's act."

Jennsen didn't know much about Midlands politics or government. Staying with Chase's family she had learned about the Resistance and how it worked but she could still only name half the nations in the Midlands and very few of their leaders. "So he's taken the place of the Midlands Council?"

"Yes," Arabelle pulled down four mugs from a cupboard. The uneven glaze reflected the firelight. "The Council's done for us for years. But, with the D'Haran wars I guess we could use some new blood. But not Prince Fyren. If D'Hara will let us alone, we should let them alone. We need to rebuild." She opened up a container and put a pinch of tealeaves in each mug. "Do you have your own food? I could let you stay in the barn. My daughter and daughters-in-law will be back at sundown."

"Thank you, ma'am." Jennsen nodded. "It'd be nice to have a roof."

***

Kahlan took a look at herself in the mirror to make sure her makeup was evenly applied. She felt her confidence rising as her Confessor face slipped into place. She needed to be calm when she had the interview she had prepared. That was why she had waited two days to think over her conversation with Darken. She needed to know how she felt about that conversation in order to understand how to proceed. She stiffened when she heard a knock on the door. "Who is it?"

"It's Zedd." The wizard called.

"Come in." Kahlan calmly turned to face the door. The look on his face made her heart contract with an icy clench. "Do you need help with something?"

"Yes and so do you." Zedd pulled a chair away from the wall and sat without asking. "I've been thinking a lot about Tarralyn lately."

"I have a meeting in half an hour." Kahlan said briskly. "How important is this immediately?" She picked imaginary lint off her dress and cleared her throat. "I'm willing to listen to anything you have to say. I don't mean to be unfeeling. I can't imagine what it was like to realize she was alive and lose her so quickly."

"Very important." Zedd said firmly. "I've found myself thinking about her life. All the things I missed because I was too busy. I never even knew she had a young man until she told me she was with child. I was... too angry, too quick. She protected him from me when I wanted to protect her from him. She had a son with the man who killed my father because I was too busy. I will never regret Richard but I won't make the same mistake twice."

"Ah," Kahlan said softly. "Since you're not warning me about how sex with Richard would destroy him, I assume you are referring to Darken." She folded her hands in front to hide their trembling. "Darken and I are not that."

"Maybe not. But you haven't said anything about what happened between the two of you. Not to me or to Richard." Zedd paused, unusually serious. "I've been told these things are better discussed than hidden."

"That's true." Kahlan sighed and closed her eyes. She only half wanted out of the conversation. The relief she might get from talking to Zedd was very tempting. "It's just that you're Richard's grandfather and I can't talk about this with him. If it were anyone else, I could. I never wanted to betray Richard and that's how he'd see it."

"I think you're giving Richard too little credit." Zedd said softly. "But I see your point. Unless it becomes necessary for Richard's safety I won't tell him anything you tell me."

Kahlan nodded absently, picking which beginning to start from. "He never beat me unless I attacked him and he never forced himself on me. I know Richard thinks that but he didn't. He was so polite. Except when he wasn't."

"He's a very charming demon." Zedd said coldly then winced. 

"That's the other reason I never talked to you about it." Kahlan smiled sadly. "I know asking you to be objective about Darken isn't fair. I won't deny that he's a monster. How can I? But he's more than that. And he let me see that." She stopped as the thought bloomed fully in her mind. "He let me see that. He thought he was tricking me but what he showed me was real."

"How certain of that are you?" Zedd asked cautiously.

"As certain as I can be. I wouldn't say he was honest but he was truthful." Kahlan shrugged slightly. "I believe he does care about his people. In a twisted way, he wants peace and prosperity. He wants it for selfish purposes but the desire to-" She frowned searching for an appropriate word. "Not to do the right thing. The desire to... get something right. That's very real."

"I see," A frown clouded Zedd's expression. "Are you considering taking him as your mate?"

"He's cunning, strong, a good planner," Kahlan murmured thoughtfully. "He comes from a long line of leaders. He would be an excellent choice."

"But he's immune to your touch. If you had children with him he might not want to raise them the same way you do." Zedd reminded her.

"I'm certain he wouldn't." Kahlan snorted. "But even with the Confessors' touch raising children isn't foolproof. Look at Annabelle." Or me. She pushed the thought back down before she had time to wonder about Dennee.

"Good point. I never thought of it that way." Zedd admitted.

"You never had to," Kahlan said, not unkindly. "I've been thinking this over for months. Since I met Richard really."

"My mother told me something once. I'm not sure if it applies here." Zedd said after a pause. "She said there's more than one way to force a woman. It doesn't have to be physical in order to be coercion."

"I chose to go to his bed." Kahlan told Zedd coolly.

"Would you have made the same choice if you hadn't been his prisoner?" Zedd asked carefully.

"No," Kahlan admitted. "But I could have chosen not to. Richard would have found another way." She resisted the doubts Zedd's suggestion dredged up. It was her choice. She held onto that thought with a death grip.

Zedd obviously wanted to protest but after another pause, he nodded. "Are you choosing him now?"

"No," Kahlan said, looking away. "And before you ask, I'm not sending Annabelle to him either."

"I never thought you would," Zedd said with an undertone of irritation.

"I apologize. I'm not looking forward to my meeting." Kahlan took a deep breath. "If I need to talk, I'll come to you." She forced herself to smile, unsure how genuine her words were.

Zedd stood with a groan. "I can't ask for more than that. I'll let you finish preparing." He paused by the door. "Take care of yourself."

"Thank you, Zedd," Kahlan smiled softly. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will," Zedd replied and left.

Kahlan took another deep breath and focused her thoughts on the meeting. She needed to know more about the spymaster and how best to deal with her. She needed to know more about Darken's past than she'd been taught or Darken could tell her. Kahlan believed Zedd when he said that D'Hara had once been a land of peaceful farmers but she knew from her lessons that war had begun to shadow both D'Hara and the Midlands near the time of Darken's birth. Too near it for Darken to be able to answer questions about what happened. Egremont and Trimack ought to know more and Oria would have an outside perspective. What they made of each other's versions should tell Kahlan even more.

The three of them were waiting in sullen silence by the time Kahlan reached the room. It was one of the medium sized meeting rooms; enough space that Trimack and Oria could each pretend the other wasn't present. They all straightened up when Kahlan entered; Egremont looking at her with wide eyes as if she was the only thing in existence, Oria turned her clear gaze on Kahlan with a welcoming smile, and Trimack sat solemnly still.

"Let's start with Egremont," Kahlan said in a brisk, businesslike manner. "What happened to the last Queen?"

"Lord Panis executed her, mistress." Egremont said steadily. "I did not witness it myself. I was in the Midlands at the time."

"General Trimack," Kahlan tore her eyes from the Confessed man. "You were with the Dragon Corps, I believe. Can you tell me more?"

"Her Majesty and her father were killed in the Palace." Trimack said softly, pointedly ignoring Oria. "Her family was executed a week later."

"Why?" Kahlan kept her expression curious rather than angry. She couldn't allow herself to form an opinion until she had more information. "Why so much time in between?"

"The Queen's death was not an execution and it was not public." Trimack frowned uncomfortably. "She tried to take her son from Lord Rahl. Her father attacked Lord Rahl while she tried to run with the boy. Lord Rahl dealt with them himself. We put one of her sisters in her place at the execution."

Kahlan stood for a moment and thought over the things Trimack wasn't saying and was saying without meaning to. She hadn't expected Trimack to say anything against Panis Rahl nor had she taken him for the type to speak ill of Darken. The distance he placed between himself and the members of House Rahl who weren't Panis interested her. Referring to Darken as the Queen's son was especially intriguing if expected. "I suppose you can give us some more background to that story." Kahlan turned her attention on Oria.

"Where do you want me to begin?" Oria meekly folded her gloved hands in her lap. 

"Start with her marriage to Panis Rahl," Kahlan said on a hunch.

"Our family was very proud. We finally had a connection with real power for the first time in five hundred years. Years passed and that pride soured, as there was no child. My cousin was born after my family had given up hope of her succeeding. The pregnancy and birth were hard on her. She was ill for several weeks afterward. Before my cousin was born, Lord Panis was excited and happy at the prospect of having a son. After she had recovered, Queen Enythe found that he had sealed himself in the Palace and behaved as if he were afraid of his own child. She began to write letters to the rest of the family expressing concern over Lord Panis's behavior. Despite a general uneasiness, most of the family thought it would fade. It got worse instead. By the time, he was three years old Lord Darken was rarely allowed to see his mother. Queen Enythe found this intolerable and so my family planned and executed the coup that failed so spectacularly." Oria delivered dryly, no hint of approval or disapproval in any part of the story. Her eyes remained on Kahlan and her hands stayed in her lap. Only small muscle twitches at her jaw and around her eyes exposed the anger Oria felt.

"I see," Kahlan said thoughtfully to stall for time. "General Trimack, can you tell me more about this change in Lord Panis? Why would a man go from a happy new father to that state of fe- anxiety?"

"Lord Panis had struggled for many years to father a child." Trimack acknowledged. "When neither the Queen nor his concubines conceived he blamed himself. He loved his son more than anything. You never saw a child showered with more love and attention. But there was the matter of the prophecy." At Kahlan indrawn breath he shook his bald head. "Not the one about Lord Rahl. The witch, Shota, said that Lord Darken would kill his father and become the most brutal tyrant the world would ever know. In addition, Lord Panis confided in me that his son died mere days after being born. The fever was unnatural and he worried that it damaged the b- Lord Darken even though he'd had the infant brought back by a Mord-Sith. He did his best to raise Lord Darken right but even as a child, he was interested in death and corruption. Eventually Lord Darken took up the darker magics in spite of Lord Panis."

Kahlan kept glancing between Trimack and Oria as Trimack spoke. The anger in Oria's eyes became more pronounced as he spoke while Trimack relaxed. Kahlan wasn't certain what Trimack had expected from her but it was clear that patiently listening hadn't been it. It was surprisingly easy to view Darken's history as she would any other history when she was mediating disputes. The elements were all the same; personal accounts at odds, missing information, strong emotions, and a need for justice to be done. Kahlan doubted either of them would ever admit to wanting interference but this was the sort of situation Confessors were created for. Without them this sort of bitterness grew out of all proportion with the original wrongs done. The thought that there were only six Confessors left in the world stung her and she forced her mind back to her duty. "How did Queen Enythe die?"

"Lord Panis ran her through with his sword." Trimack answered.

"Through the belly. Below where she would have held a child while running." Oria growled.

That lifted Kahlan's eyebrows. "And Lord Darken was four years old at the time, correct?" She barely paid attention while they both nodded. "Egremont, is this true to the best of your knowledge?"

"It doesn't contradict anything I heard, mistress." Egremont's adoring gaze turned her stomach.

She gave all three of them a polite smile. "If I have more questions later I'll let you know." She forced herself to acknowledge Egremont's blind worship, Oria's almost imperceptible rage, and Trimack's discreet hope. Other people's expectations were some of the easiest things to prepare for.

***

Darken grunted as he shifted his weight off his broken toe and sat on a low stone bench. It was a quiet day, the sky slightly overcast and a hint of rain on the wind. It was a peaceful in the small courtyard, quiet enough to give Darken space for all the loud thoughts chasing each other through his head. He knew he was going to pay dearly for this bit of quiet so he tried to make the most of it. The less used passages of the Palace were still his. He hadn't told anyone everything he knew and had long since resolved that he never would. The Seeker and his band could hunt through the library for years and never find what he'd found.

As the chill of the bench worked its way through his trousers, Darken fought to bring an order to his thoughts. He had slipped away from his Mord-Sith shepherds with more than one purpose in mind. The Mord-Sith weren't there merely to watch him anymore. He had felt the change as the Palace filled with his former allies and outright enemies. Now the Sisterhood of the Agiel watched for his safety as well.

Sometimes he touched them. A small brushing of the fingertips along a leather clad arm. An almost inadvertent caress above a girdle. Things that could be overlooked without loss of face. When they didn't overlook it, he took his punishment quietly but not mildly. However, they weren't his anymore and that always hung between them. They were no longer his and he could no longer trust them if trust had ever been the right word. The ones that were still his despite the new Lord Rahl he could trust even less. That was why he hadn't been able to include them in his plans. 

The soft scrape of a shoe against the stone floor brought a soft smile to his lips. His back was to the sound so the nastiness lurking at the corners of Darken's mouth was hidden. He listened for the next one and stood abruptly, adrenaline erasing the pain it caused him. "Which one do you work for?" he asked as he turned around.

Freezing behind a caryatid, the man looked around the courtyard. He was short and dark haired with brown eyes. No one Darken recognized. "I'm a porter."

"Then why are you sneaking about?" Darken looked at the man's boots. "And carrying a throwing knife of such quality. Did you plan to leave that in my back?" Darken smirked as the man looked uncertain. "Are you a messenger or an assassin?"

"A messenger." The man said finally.

"A promising career. What then, is your message and who is it from?" Darken rubbed the fingers of one hand against the other. Clearly, the intended message was a knife between the ribs. Darken wasn't sure whether the man was afraid he would raise an alarm or one of the Palace staff chosen for the job because of his placement and not his temperament. He strode confidently over to the man and firmly guided him to a seat. "If you don't wish to tell me you could always explain yourself to my bodyguards. I warn you, they might take it rather more personally than I do."

"General Grix," the man gulped.

"I see," Darken drew the knife and held it against the man's throat, his other hand gripping the man's forearm. "Is your answer still the same?" The man nodded and Darken sighed. "You really should tell the truth." When the man hesitated, Darken made a small cut on his cheek

"Lord Winterhaven," the man gasped as the pungent scent of urine emanated from his crotch.

"Just a warning then," Darken sighed regretfully. The slash he cut across the man's throat bled freely and with force. He watched the man fade as the blood flow slow. This was the best he had felt in months. He smiled cheerfully and wiped the blade on the man's shirt. There was no need to let a fine blade rust even if he couldn't use it. 

Darken examined the hilt of the knife. It was unmarked and worn. He doubted the man was the owner. Whoever it belonged to had kept it well. Darken played a reflection of light along the wall, enjoying the feel and weight of good steel in his hand. He sighed as he placed it next to the body.

Looking up at the sky, Darken leaned back and closed his eyes. A sense of dread tightened his chest and he forced his eyes open again. Taking slow deep breaths, Darken concentrated on slowing his pulse. He sternly reminded himself that Kahlan didn't matter that much. Cara didn't matter that much. The Mord-Sith didn't matter that much. What mattered was remaining in control, keeping ahead of his younger brother and all his allies. What really mattered was not letting it all get to him. The nightmares had been bad enough before since... forever. This was new. 

"Can't leave you alone for three minutes." Triana drew her Agiel. "Not that you were supposed to be alone in the first place.. She strode forward and put the Agiel to his neck. "And with this mess there's no way I can hide that you slipped away, is there?"

"No," Darken replied when he could draw breath again. "May I stand, Mistress Triana?" he asked in a voice that held no submission or fear.

Triana looked at Darken and then at the body. "Get up." She sighed in disgust and motioned one of the younger Mord-Sith forward. "You are a very messy boy."

"My deepest and most humble apologies, Mistress Triana." Darken stared thoughtfully at the corpse, remembering what a relief it had been to fully take control for a moment.

"But not your most sincere." Triana noted absently. "Keely, go to Lord Rahl and apologize for your failure." She waited until after Keely was gone for Darken's attention. "If you wanted to be gone we would never have found you."

Darken checked the shadows. "Had you started searching as soon as you lost me, you'd have been here sooner." He smiled slightly. "Perhaps as long as a count of fifty."

"Perhaps," Triana said in the same absent tone she'd used on him before. "I hope you have a good explanation for Lord Rahl." At his look, she hesitated. "For the girl's sake."

"She's Mord-Sith, she knows her duty." Darken wrinkled his nose as the wind shifted to send the odor of excrement and urine swirling around the courtyard. "Besides, my brother wouldn't hurt a girl doing the best she could with a difficult job like looking after me. Do you think she might be convinced to come by my quarters when she's off duty?" 

"Maybe." Triana said with something almost like humor. "She might even be honored. She's young enough, completed her training last month." Triana folded her arms. "Do you want me to arrange for the Mother Confessor to come by during Keely's personal introduction?"

"I knew there was a reason I liked your wicked mind." Darken's smile had an edge sharper than the knife he'd just used. "Yes and if you could arrange to have Cara assigned to her that would make it perfect."

"I think I can manage that." Triana gave him a speculative look but didn't ask whichever question lurked behind her eyes. Darken was glad for that but also a little disappointed. 

It was as if they could hear Richard coming before the physical echoes of Richard's steps reached them. Darken took a deep breath and leashed his temper as tightly as he could. He noticed that Triana was subtly bracing herself and quickly turned his glance at her into a lingering ogle of her chest.

"Who is he?" Richard demanded loudly, scowling like a thunderhead. 

"A Palace servant, I believe," Darken idly toyed with one of his cuffs. "Certainly smells like one."

Richard turned to glare at Keely, floating in his wake like a bit of duckweed after a goose. "Why doesn't she know who he is or why he's dead or what you're even doing here?" He glared at Darken and Triana equally. "Well?"

"I needed a stretch and I had Keely spell me." Triana said evenly, watching the four Mord-Sith assigned to Richard's bodyguard cadre fan out. "You may punish me however you think I deserve. That's your right as Lord Rahl." Darken looked down to hide his smirk. The woman was brilliant. 

"You had to stretch?" Richard asked incredulously.

"I do my best to be ever ready and ever vigilant. In order to do that I make sure that even after I've been standing for three hours, I'm still ready to go up and down those stairs at a moment's notice. I should have called in someone. I knew Keely was inexperienced." Triana said contritely.

"Who is that man?" Richard said more quietly. "And why is he dead?"

"Someone hired him to kill me." Darken said confidently, enjoying the expressions that chased each other across Richard's face. "I'm reasonably certain it's not Winterhaven or Grix."

"How?" Richard demanded with an expression three parts disbelief and one part outrage. 

"Because that's who he said it was. Neither of them is what you would call intelligent but the kind of stupidity it would take to let an inexperienced assassin know who sent him is not something I allow in my leadership." Darken said firmly but not aggressively.

"How do you know that's not what they want you to think?" Richard frowned. "Everything in this place is so backwards and no one ever says what they want! Everyone plays games just to get breakfast in the morning!"

"True. Which is why they know that if they were implicated you'd have the Mother Confessor ask them about it." Darken said, refusing to allow Richard's animosity to get to him. He could punch his pillow in a couple hours. "And when she asked them if they knew anything about yes or no... Do you understand, brother?"

"Yes!" Richard growled. "I understand." He glared at Darken.

Feeling much better, Darken smiled back. "In fact, if the lovely Mother Confessor were to ask me some questions-"

A muscle in Richard's jaw jumped.

***

Cara watched impassively as Lord Rahl shot arrows into a bale of hay. The whistle and thump of the projectiles was strangely soothing. She watched the tension ease from his stance until his frown was barely there.

Lord Winterhaven cleared his throat. "My Lord?"

"Yes." Richard's reluctance to stop was obvious but he unstrung the bow. "You have my attention. Lord Winterhaven. Lady Warriman."

"Since you have assigned Lord Bront to be my aide, will I be taking on Lady Warriman's household too?" Lord Winterhaven asked with just the right amount of deference.

Richard seemed oblivious to the tightness around Oria's eyes as he answered. "Yes. That's the agreement."

"Lord Winterhaven believes this gives him the privilege to dispose of me as he wishes. I am seeing that as still in the hands of my liege lord." Oria said quietly.

"Dispose of-" Richard tilted his head. "What?"

"Dispose of my estate and household." Oria said. Richard's expression didn't clear and annoyance crept into her tone. "Marry me off."

"Oh." Cara couldn't help the amusement the bubbled up in her as she watched Richard's expression. The startled mixture of disbelief and distaste said this was something he had never thought of. 

"If I'm going to be supporting her out of my own purse, I think I should be allowed-"

Richard held up a hand to silence Winterhaven. "Why is this any of my business?" Cara mentally applauded the evenness of his tone even as she recognized the twitch of disgust around his mouth.

"As I am one of the aristocracy, I am one of your vassals." Oria began patiently. "Estates are typically distributed one of three ways. The most common is that the old Lord dies and his estate is divided up among his heirs. This usually happens according to the will of the Lord but Lord Rahl can intervene if he so chooses. Say for example, that you think Lord Remaren's second son is a better heir than his first. Even if Lord Remaren wills the estate to his first son, you could declare the second son to be his heir. I'm keeping this simple for the moment. There are many reasons for that to be a good idea or bad.

"The least common reason is what Lord Panis did to my family. A Lord Rahl can give or take holdings as he wishes. Giving them is a sign of favor with exception and taking them is a punishment with exceptions. All of D'Hara is ultimately Lord Rahl's to do with as he pleases." Oria kept her hands folded before her as she spoke.

"She means it's your money so you decide where it goes," Winterhaven interrupted.

"Not just money," Oria all but rolled her eyes.

"Stop," Richard said firmly. "Pretend you're talking to someone who has no idea what you're getting at."

"Money moves with marriages." Oria said bluntly. "Marriages between people who ma- between lords, ladies, and the generals are matters of state. Not just money but land, mines, status, and more liquid assets. On marrying me, General Warriman was given certain holdings. Unless you say otherwise, those holdings will go to my next husband. Lord Winterhaven is trying to claim the right to pick who that will be. I say that right belongs to you as I am still a lady and you are Lord Rahl."

"You expect to be traded for some holdings?" Richard seemed to have gone past his disgust and out the other side to assuming it was a joke. He smiled in a pained way. "I appreciate your taking the time to try to lighten things up. I don't think it's funny. I think you shouldn't do- this- anymore."

"No, it isn't funny," Oria said. If Darken had smiled the way Oria was smiling, Cara would be anticipating a very active evening.

"I would never waste Lord Rahl's time except that this one insisted." Lord Winterhaven scowled at Oria.

"This was not the same as him saying you could," Oria told Winterhaven.

"If Lord Rahl does not wish to be bothered now, what makes you think he will want to be bothered later? I can decide this without disturbing-"

"You're serious?" Richard asked incredulously. "You're serious." He pinched his nose in the way that Cara associated with one of his headaches. "Of course, you're serious." He restrung the bow and aimed it at the target again. Cara noticed that neither Oria nor Winterhaven looked like they were even thinking of intruding. "Darken Rahl arranged your marriage to General Warriman. Did you love him?"

"No," Oria said blandly.

"Have you ever been in love?" Richard asked almost as if he didn't want to hear the answer.

"Once," Oria said with the same blandness.

"I give you permission to marry him," Richard said quickly as he let loose another arrow.

"My Lord?" Cara considered it a rare pleasure to see someone looking as pole axed as Oria did right then.

"I give you permission to marry your love," Richard said as he nocked another arrow.

"My Lord," Oria hesitated, "he's not of my station."

"If you're really in love that won't matter." Richard said, hitting the bull's eye of the target. "If the two of you are really in love, then you want to be together no matter what. It wouldn't matter how long it's been or what's happened. Any barriers between you can be overcome through love. Something like social status shouldn't bother you at all." He glanced sidelong at Oria who was standing stock-still. "If you let things get in the way of your love then it wasn't real to begin with. Love is the most powerful magic of all."

"He married the bricklayer's daughter," Oria said through bloodless lips. "They have two children."

Lord Winterhaven broke out into great peals of laughter. "So it isn't that toy you've been keeping on the side." He applauded. "Keep in mind; you'll have to be discreet under my roof."

"I notice you don't know his name. That's discretion." Oria stood ramrod straight.

Richard blinked. "You're in love with one man, bedding another and recently widowed." He lowered his bow, scowling harshly. "Why?"

"I don't know, I haven't bedded him, and because Lord Rahl told me to." Oria said warily. She looked at Richard's face and her expression hardened. "I do not know how it works where you are from. Here, sometimes people fall in love and do not remain so. Sometimes there are other things to do. I have a duty to D'Hara, to Lord Rahl. We all do. If that means we go to places not to our liking, we go. If that means marrying people we do not love or even like, we get married. If that means we do not get to become artists, poets, farmers, or whatever dream we have, we become what D'Hara needs us to be. That is what makes us better." Her vowels became more guttural as she continued.

"Better than who?" Richard asked suspiciously.

"Everyone else." Oria said, completely serious.

"Even me?" Lord Rahl asked dangerously. 

"You are Lord Rahl. You do what must be done." Oria said without a trace of fear. "Whatever dreams you had, whatever you do, you are now Lord Rahl. So long as you are Lord of D’Hara, I will serve you in all things. If you wish me to marry the tailor, I will. His wife and children may find that awkward. As would I."

"Why did Darken choose General Warriman?" Richard asked, rubbing at another headache. "What should I be looking for in a future husband, or Lord Winterhaven?"

On hearing, his presence acknowledged again, Lord Winterhaven straightened up. "Someone you want to show favor to. Or if you choose to punish her for her behavior, you could pick someone entirely unsuitable."

Richard glanced back and forth for a long pause. "You would sell her to the highest bidder and you would let yourself be auctioned off for someone else's political advantage."

"Master Rahl guide us," Oria said quietly.

"I think Lady Oria is right." Richard said finally. "The matter of her marriage should be at Lord Rahl's discretion." He cleared his throat. "Now, I'm returning to my archery practice."

After the two nobles had left, Cara smirked. "Aristocrats."

"They're always like that?" Richard said as he nocked another arrow. At Cara's slightly wider smirk, he shook his head. "Who thinks that way?"

"Most of them do." Cara didn't bother to hide her sense of superiority. Mord-Sith didn't have to worry about political marriages or overbearing husbands. The only man a Mord-Sith had to bow to was the Lord Rahl. She couldn't imagine how ordinary women lived with it and didn't really want to.

"I'm putting a stop to this. It's wrong." Richard seemed to barely notice the target or the arrow as he hit another bull's eye. "They're people, not horses to be traded."

"How do you plan to stop it?" Cara asked with an edge of challenge under her curiosity. She jutted her hips slightly forward as she put her hands on them.

"I'll order it stopped. I won't arrange anymore." Richard scowled and hit another arrow to the center of the target.

"Then their parents will." Cara shrugged carelessly. "They've already been told they'll be married for politics. If it's their parents arranging it instead of you what's the difference? How many do you think would tell you if mommy or daddy arranged a marriage anyway?"

"I'd ask." Richard said grimly.

"All of them?" Cara raised her eyebrows. 

"Yes," Richard drew again.

"You are Lord Rahl." Cara said flatly, her body language suggesting she thought it was a waste of time. She turned around to face the footsteps she heard approaching, hand on her Agiel. She relaxed on seeing Triana walking towards them.

"Ariela is needed to guard the south wing. I was thinking I'll take your detail and you take hers." Triana said, almost challenging Cara's authority. "The Mother Confessor feels safer with you."

There was something Triana wasn't saying but that was like saying the night sky was full of stars. Cara glanced to Richard before nodding. "I can do that." She barely nodded to Triana as she left the courtyard. She ignored the sounds of the Palace, wrapped up in the isolation of being Mord-Sith. No one touched her, everyone avoided her eyes. She enjoyed the feeling that everyone knew who she was and no one dared to openly risk defying her.

Cara found the Mother Confessor in a bad mood. The hint of a frown between her eyebrows was the only outward sign. From the number of logbooks piled on the desk, Cara guessed that this mood had been present for hours. She nodded for Ariela to leave and took her post by the door. "Mother Confessor," Cara nodded to Kahlan.

"We're going to go see Lord Darken," Kahlan said, frowning at the papers in her hands.

Nodding cautiously, Cara tilted her head. "Is this about the man he killed?"

"Yes," Kahlan said shortly and left the room.

Cara followed easily. The flights of stairs and twists in the corridors were as familiar as her hands and almost as familiar as her Agiel. The sounds coming from Darken's room made her grab that Agiel swiftly as she thrust the Mother Confessor behind her. Her gaze flashed to the two Mord-Sith standing at the mouth of the corridor. At their calm, she grimaced and listened more carefully to the moans and scream. She deliberately and smoothly placed her Agiel back in its holster. "I apologize." She stepped out of Kahlan's way.

Kahlan gave her a long, assessing look. She pulled out the key and turned the lock with more force than usual. "Sorry to interrupt," she said loudly as the girl scrambled out from under Darken. "You. Out." Kahlan pointed imperiously. 

The girl fled the room and waited until she was in the hall to put her uniform back on. Cara picked the Agiel up off the floor and stonily handed it back to the younger Mord-Sith.

"Please shut the door, Mistress Cara," Kahlan said icily. After Cara had complied, she folded her arms and glared at Darken. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. First, you kill a man and then you bed a sixteen-year-old girl as a follow up. If you're going to start your bad habits again, you may as well do them all. Is that it?"

"She's nineteen. I asked." Darken said smoothly. 

"Not the point." Kahlan said bluntly. "What is it you think playing on my jealousy will get you, more time?" She tapped her foot. "I'm not leaving to calm down. I'm getting this over with now. Did you kill that man?"

"Yes," Darken sat on the edge of his bed. "May I put my trousers on?"

"No," Kahlan said brusquely. "Why did you kill him?"

"He was sent to kill me. I couldn't let him get away with that." Darken said, bowing his knees out and resting his elbows on them.

"You're only telling part of the truth." Kahlan snapped. "Why do you say he was sent to kill you?" Her shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. 

"He said he was," Darken's eyes gleamed.

"You think he was lying?" Kahlan asked speculatively. "No, you think he was lied to. Who did he say sent him?"

"First Grix, then I threatened him with his own knife and he said Winterhaven. It was a very nice knife." Darken noted. "I'd like to have one like that."

"I'm sure you would." Kahlan's lips tightened. "You don't think it was either of them."

"Neither of them is so foolish as to let an assassin as poorly trained as that one know if they were connected with the plot." Darken shook his head. "Not in any way that someone could use against them."

"So you killed him so we couldn't come to our own conclusions." Kahlan put her hands on her hips.

"If I left him alive you'd be afraid I was communicating with him." Darken said in a tone of voice that made Cara feel warm. "That would make my life even more awkward than it currently is."

Cara eyed him appreciatively, remembering better times. "As your appetizer proved?"

"You know how the kill affects me." Darken smiled at her and for a moment the world was almost right.

Kahlan harshly cleared her throat. "Do I have your promise that you will let me know whatever you discover about the conspiracies this place breeds? Immediately." Kahlan stared at Darken.

"Yes," Darken said, meeting Kahlan's eyes calmly. "You have my word. I will let you know about whatever plots and plans they're spinning as soon as I have something to tell."

***

Trimack sighed heavily. He understood a great deal about waiting on the pleasure of his monarch. He was willing to stand, as long as necessary but after a time no matter how willing the spirit was, the flesh was weak. His feet and knees ached and he was beginning to suspect Lord Rahl had forgotten his presence. Over the last three turns of the water clock, the voices of the Lord Rahl, the Mother Confessor, and the Wind of Death had slowly risen in volume. He decided it was time they were reminded people could hear them.

"You didn't have any objection to Gryff and Bronwyn." The Mother Confessor said pointedly.

"That was different!" Lord Rahl shouted back. "They were- They were good for each other. Some these are just- and they want me to arrange them! Some of them are insisting."

"It's what they're used to," the Wizard said more gently. "People need time to adjust."

"I've given them time! How much more do they need?" Richard growled.

Trimack tapped on the door. "You called for me?"

"Yes, General," the Mother Confessor smoothed her features into an expression of welcome. "Come in."

Even the Wizard seemed grateful for the disruption. Trimack knelt before his Lord Rahl and bowed his head. "What does Lord Rahl wish from me?"

"I'd like to post members of the Dragon Corps inside the Palace, have them keep their ears open." Richard said hoarsely. "They don't need to do anything. Just their presence should be enough."

"I see," Trimack raised his head. "Will any be serving as Lord Rahl's personal guard? To augment the Mord-Sith of course."

"I don't think that's necessary." Richard shook his head.

"Then I can have the plans to you by the day after tomorrow." Trimack said, eager to serve his lord.

"Give them to Zedd tomorrow." Richard said with far more ease than Trimack would have expected.

"I- Yes, Lord Rahl." Trimack looked at the Wizard, not hiding his disagreement. He would serve his Lord but he didn't have to be happy about it.

"Good." Richard's eyes said he knew what Trimack was thinking. "I expect you to cooperate fully."

"As my Lord commands," Trimack said automatically. He didn't miss the wince Richard tried to suppress but couldn't think of any way to tell Richard he hadn't meant it that way without sounding insincere. Luckily, he was spared further awkwardness by a messenger racing into the room.

"My Lord, there are some women here to see you." The messenger gulped.

"Tell them-" Whatever Richard was going to say was lost three women entered the room, pushing the messenger aside. Their orange robes marked them as sorceresses. Trimack's hand went instinctively to the pommel of his sword.

"I'm Sister Verna; these are Sister Katherine and Sister Elizabeth. We've come about the headaches." The eldest of the three women said calmly. 

"They're Sisters of the Light," the Mother Confessor said, her eyes filling with hope. "Sorceresses sworn to serve the Creator." She paused, her hope dimming. "What headaches?"

"Richard knows of what we speak," Sister Verna said calmly.

"What are they?" Lord Rahl asked suspiciously while Trimack surreptitiously stood up.

"They're your Han manifesting itself," Sister Elizabeth spoke from Verna's right elbow. "You require training."

"Training? What kind of training?" Lord Rahl frowned hard.

"You're going to be a wizard," Verna answered. "The most powerful in generations. The Prelate and the Sisters of the Light believe you are the answer to prophecies given to us by the Creator Herself."

Richard frowned harder, eyes trying to squeeze out the light. "I don't believe in prophecies."

"Then believe this," Verna replied without irritation. "If you are not trained, you will die. The Mother Confessor will tell you that I speak truly. You and your Han will expend all your life force fighting each other."

Lord Rahl began to turn towards the Mother Confessor when he dropped suddenly to his knees. Trimack began to draw his sword when he saw the young Sister on Verna's left start forward. He was surprised when he saw the wizard staring at Richard with a look of horror. Trimack didn't trust the Wizard farther than he could spit in a high wind but he had no doubt the man loved his grandson. He was forced to conclude the sorceresses were saying something plausible.

Sister Elizabeth put her hands to Richard's head, her eyes rolled back and then she keeled over. Trimack knew a dead body when he saw one but he slid his sword back into its sheath and checked the dead girl for signs of life.

"What just happened?" Richard asked tightly.

"Your headaches are more severe than we expected. Sister Elizabeth took a portion of your Han into herself to give us time to save your life." Sister Verna said impassively. "It killed her."

"Why would she do that for me?" Richard blinked.

"The prophecies were very clear. You're the one we've been looking for." Verna answered.

"Fine. Train me." Richard pushed himself off the floor, waving away the helping hand Trimack tried to offer him.

"We need to take you back to the Palace of the Prophets in order to do that." Verna said.

"There are people here who need me." Richard responded.

"The Palace is designed to suspend the burden of your Han. Sister Elizabeth sacrificed her life but it's only temporary. In a matter of weeks or months you will die without our help and there's no way for us to train you fast enough in this place." Verna showed the first sign of impatience.

Zedd looked her in the eye. "Wizards should be trained by other wizards."

"His magic is too different from yours," Verna said quietly.

"She believes it," Kahlan said softly frowning. "There's something she's not saying but she's not lying."

"The Palace of the Prophets is in the Old World," Verna answered before they could ask. "The way back is dangerous."

"I can't just abandon everyone," Richard said firmly.

"If you die here, it'll be worse than if you were just gone." Kahlan said sadly.

"You should go, my boy," Zedd said. "We can hold things together while you're gone and we know how to reach you."

Trimack wanted to say something, anything that would keep his Lord in D'Hara where he belonged. D'Hara fell to bits when it was left masterless. Leaving it in the hands of the Mother Confessor and the Wind of Death would be a disaster. Possibly as disastrous as Darken's reign. But, he could think of no words. The Mother Confessor believed Lord Rahl would die if he stayed. Unless she and the Sister of Light were conspiring together (a possibility Trimack wasn't about to dismiss) then him leaving would be the best course of action.

Trimack saw the decision in his Lord's eyes as Richard looked at the Mother Confessor. His Lord was leaving. Trimack let out a long sigh and mentally prepared for the worst.


	7. Interlude I

Alana strode into Prince Fyren's audience chamber, shoulders back and head high. Her dark hood hid her face from the pressing crowd. She looked over the supplicants from the corner of her eye before finally setting eyes on Silas and Alferon. She made her way towards them with a confidence that opened an aisle for her. Orsk's looming presence might have had something to do with it too if she felt like being honest.

Silas was the first to recognize her. The old wizard's expression brightened. "Alana, my child. We were worried sick about you." He spoke in a low voice.

Alana gave them a tight-lipped smile, relief in her eyes. "What's this about?" She tilted her head ever so slightly towards Prince Fyren.

"That's Prince Fyren," Alferon said, eyes watching the crowd. "He's declared himself leader of the Midlands. He disbanded the Council and reinstated the Code of Aydindril."

Alana wrinkled her nose. "We'll have to do something about that." She looked into the faces of the old men and something realigned in her gut. She'd have to do something about that.

"We were getting ready to use the amulet to contact the Mother Confessor," Silas said.

"Let me handle it," Alana gave him a reassuring pat on the arm.

***

Kahlan looked up at Zedd, the letter in her hand. "Alana has retaken her rightful place in Aydindril."

"Good," Zedd sat down across the desk from her.

"It should be but it makes me uneasy." Kahlan admitted. "It's not that I don't trust her or Silas or Alferon but she's taken Fyren as her mate. No, that's fine." Kahlan held up a hand, frowning in thought. "She's asked me for permission to appoint a new Council. She says that the old Council is discredited because they allowed Fyren to take control."

"That sounds reasonable," Zedd allowed. "What troubles you about it?"

"I think she'd appoint them without my permission," Kahlan looked steadily into Zedd's eyes. "I can't put my finger on why." Kahlan handed Zedd the letter. "Alana has always been very forceful, even when we were girls."

Zedd read the letter silently. "She's determined to do what's best for her people."

"Yes." Kahlan nodded. "That's what makes me uneasy."

"You could go back to Aydindril," Zedd suggested.

"How long do you think things would hold together here with neither Richard nor I to watch over the D'Haran government?" Kahlan responded without any anger.

"Are you sure that's why you're staying?" Zedd asked gently.

"Yes." Kahlan said quickly.

Zedd said nothing. Kahlan had always been a bad liar.


	8. Interlude II

General Grix stared down at the map. "How many men are there?"

"One hundred pikemen, twenty five crossbow and a dozen sword." Bront said quietly.

Winterhaven grunted and muttered the figured for pay and officer to draft. "And we're just pulling out?" he said after a moment.

"We're pulling back to here," Bront pointed, "in order to allow the locals to take over lawkeeping activities." He quietly recited the official phrasing. "Reprisals are to be discouraged as firmly as possible. Reprisals by our people that is. If the locals commit a minor crime, we're to leave it up to their judicial system. Major crimes will require diplomatic involvement at a higher level-"

"Thank you," Winterhaven held up a hand.

"You know what we have to do," General Grix said in a low voice.

"It's treason." Winterhaven's words were a simple statement of fact, not a denial.

"To Lord Rahl or that usurper?" Grix snapped. His face formed grim lines. "We owe no fealty to those who are not fit to lead or those who betray us."

"You make a good point," Winterhaven said with false reluctance.

***

Seeing his cousin like this always fascinated Darken. Lady Oria was just a mask for the person currently pacing his room. She wore masculine clothing, reeked of gin, and was stone sober. Without the camouflage of cosmetics her face was unlovely and her only remarkable feature was a pair of disconcertingly pale blue eyes. Her short cropped hair was a contrast to his own; fine and dull. The hands that kept twirling the half filled gin bottle had calluses on the palms and scars across the knuckles. Two of the fingers on her left hand stuck slightly out at an awkward angle. Her lop soled boots slapped arrhythmically against the stone floor as she gave her report.

"The current plan is to move with the snowmelt next spring." Oria turned at the wall and started stumping back the other way. "I'm sure we could play up the tension between Winterhaven and Grix if we wanted to break the alliance. Punitive taxing on the aristocracy or redistributing the soldiers."

"If?" Darken asked quietly, folding his hands contemplatively.

"Some are on the fence. If we let the conspiracy go forward we might flush them out," Oria tapped the bottle against her thigh.

"True," Darken said. "Trimack isn't one of them."

"No. Either way I recommend that I remain here when the court returns to their lands."

"So do I. Don't be obvious." Darken touched his lips. "Would it be bending any of your oaths to avoid telling Kahlan of the conspiracy until after they're gone?"

"Not at all." For all the differences in their respective appearances Oria's smile was a mirror of Darken's.

"Then you might want to make yourself scarce for a couple weeks." Darken said.

"I'll go visit Bram's family, shall I? It's been awhile since I've seen his son." Oria said neutrally.

Darken felt a twinge of fear in his chest. His expression didn't flicker. "Elisa always liked you second best."

"He'll be eight soon." Oria said quietly.

"I know," Darken closed his eyes. "He's not Gifted."

"Neither am I," Oria noted. "We all have our uses."

"In the library there's a bookcase at the very back. The fifth book from the left of the third shelf is hollow. Take it to him and go." Darken closed his eyes tightly. When he opened them Oria was gone, leaving only the faint scent of gin.

***

Lord Winterhaven and his retinue paused at an inn for the night. It felt good to be out of the People's Palace. The place was as luxurious and comfortable as one could ever wish a castle to be but t made his skin crawl. The Confessor woman made it worse but even before her arrival he had always felt like the walls themselves were watching his every move.

Bront negotiated their fee and returned to Winterhaven's side. The older man paused to wonder yet again how someone so servile could be related to Lord Rahl no matter how remotely. He handed out orders for sleeping arrangements. The majority of the party would be sleeping in the stable. A few favored servants would share the few beds Winterhaven didn't fill with his men-at-arms. When everyone was divided up and preparing to bed down for the night a small, fluttery woman approached Winterhaven. He vaguely recognized her as one of the maidservants he had assigned to Lady Oria.

"My lord, Lady Oria isn't here," she curtsied hurriedly.

"Have you checked the other women's room?"

"Yes, my lord. And the stables. None of the horses are missing."

Winterhaven began to wonder if Bront behaved the way he did because Oria had inherited all of the old man's stones. "Did you ask Lord Bront?"

"First thing, my lord. He thought she was with us and we thought she was with him."

"So there is every indication that she was never with us at all." Winterhaven sighed. She would have been a useful bargaining chip.

***

Oria was a merely competent rider. Nevertheless, she was good at tending her horse. The first thing she did on arriving at Elisa's estate was make sure her gelding was cared for. She paused to put on the face she wanted for the coming meeting. She presented herself to the widow with a bow, still in riding leathers and gloves. Her smile was relaxed and cheerful.

"Lady Oria," Elisa said in a brittle voice. "This is an unexpected pleasure." Her brown eyes searched for any companions or retinue. "I suppose you should come in."

Oria stepped into the mansion and looked over the austere decor. "I apologize for the lack of warning."

"I suppose it couldn't be helped." Elisa said doubtfully. Her brown hair was pulled back in a simple hairstyle and her widow's weeds were of good quality. She was thinner than Oria remembered and more lined. She looked like a strong wind would push her over.

"Have you been well?" Oria asked with real concern.

Elisa opened her mouth, the skin between her eyebrows furrowing. She sighed and looked at Oria with something like pity. "I miss Bram."

"Ah," Oria sighed. "I have something for Kail."

"I should have known that would be why I'd get a visit from you," Elisa sighed, lips pressed together in displeasure.

Oria looked at Elisa's hands. They were long fingered and soft. The nails were trimmed into perfect ovals and the cuticles were well tended. She sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't visit sooner."

"I know," Elisa said softly, fearfully. "Please forgive me when I say that I hope my son doesn't grow up to be like you."

"I'll be staying here for the winter," Oria said gruffly.

"Of course," Elisa sighed. "I'll inform the servants."

Oria nodded. "I'd like to see him if that's alright." She shifted the saddle bag slightly, loosening the strings that tied it shut.

Elisa gave Oria one more pained look and left.

Kail was small for his age. His blond hair might get darker over the next few years or it might not. He had his birthmother's green eyes.

Oria smiled at the boy. "I have something your father wanted you to have," she said and opened the bag.


	9. Interlude III

Jennsen dashed through the snow as fast as her legs could carry her. The cold reddened her nose while the raw wind whipped through her cloak and dress. Her boots were cracked, allowing the snow to dampen her woolen stockings, and her breath burned in her lungs. She didn't dare slow down enough to pull the cloak over her arms.

The dogs were about thirty paces behind her, howling and gaining, but she didn't look back. When a hot, slobbering weight hit Jennsen from behind she fell down and stayed there. The soldiers found Jennsen prone on a snow bank, teeth chattering so hard she couldn't talk.

"This is the little bit the Commander is so worked up about?" One of them said with a laugh.

"Hardly seems worth it, does she?" Another voice sneered. "I've seen lost sheep that looked like more trouble."

Hands lifted Jennsen bodily by her elbows. She waited until they had both accepted her weight before lashing out with a foot. She caught one below the belt and he dropped into the snow. Pulling for freedom, she shrieked as the other soldier pulled her back into a come along hold and a third punched her in the stomach.

"Maybe not so harmless after all," the third said musingly. "Come on, man. Stand up." The two unhurt soldiers began tying Jennsen's hands together.

Jennsen focused on trying to get her wind back. she almost missed it when the soldier she'd kicked took a swing at her head. She ducked just in time for the third soldier to block it.

"None of that now," the more cautious soldier said gruffly. "She got the drop on you fair enough. No need to mess up such a pretty face." He spun Jennsen to face him. "You're going to Aydindril for judgment. We don't want the Confessors to be disappointed."

***

The journey to Aydindril was cold and damp. Jennsen spent most of the trip with her hands and feet chained together. Outside the dark, rocking world of the coach she could hear crowds sometimes. Occasionally a rock or a piece of frozen mud would hit the side of the coach and the crowd would cheer more loudly. At least, it sounded like frozen mud. Sometimes it wasn't.

Her first glimpse of Aydindril was through tears as her eyes tried to adjust to sunlight reflecting off snow. Jennsen had only the barest view between throngs of angry people.

Alana waited in a wide room with only one chair. People stood past the edge of a circle defined by soldiers. Jennsen Rahl was dragged into the middle of that circle. She wondered fuzzily why Alana wasn't sitting in the chair.

"Jennsen Rahl," Alana said the name slowly. 

"Yes," Jennsen said defiantly. "And you are?"

"I'm Confessor Alana," she snapped. "What are the D'Harans planning?"

"Lord Rahl wants peace between D'Hara and the Midlands," Jennsen blinked hard. "The Seeker-"

"Don't talk to us about the Seeker," Alana glared. "He left. He left D'Hara and went off to learn how to be a wizard."

"I don't know anything," Jennsen said dully.

"He sent you to the middle of nowhere. Why?" Alana demanded.

"I wanted to know people who knew my mother."

Alana stared into Jennsen's eyes for so long that Jennsen's eyes started to water again. At last Alana sighed and said, "Bring her here." The soldiers brought Jennsen to Alana. The Confessor reached out and placed her hand on Jennsen's throat. Her eyes became two pools of absolute darkness. "Tell me what you know?"

"I don't know anything." Jennsen insisted. "My brother, Richard, wants peace."

Eyes narrowed, Alana glowered. "Take her to the cells to the north."

"I'm immune to magic," Jennsen told her softly. "Pristinely ungifted."

Alana gave the D'Haran woman a speculative look before waving the soldiers on their way.

***

Alana stared out her window at the city that spread below. People came and went, churning fresh snow into muddy slush. The patterns of white snow and brown mud fell like light and shadow.

The responsibility loomed over Alana like a stooping hawk. So many things needed to be done. Tara and Erin were needed where they were and Alana didn't have the authority to recall them anyway. The only person who held that power was doing only Creator knew what in D'Hara. Someone had to keep it all going. 

Erin didn't have enough presence. Tara wasn't good enough at organization. Kahlan and Dennee weren't there. Alana wasn't best, she was what was left.

She placed her hand on her belly and thought of Fyren. She was doing what needed to be done.


	10. Interlude IV

Denna poured water on the hot rocks and inhaled the steam as it wafted upward. "Thank you for meeting me here, Mistress Triana." She smiled at the other woman's naked body. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

Triana was sweating buckets, her expression calm and collected. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you, Denna." Triana resolutely refused to use Denna's title. She took a drink of water in the same deliberate manner.

"Because I am perfectly positioned to gather information for our Sisters." Denna smiled sweetly. "Men whisper all kinds of secrets in the midst of pleasure. I know you've used that technique yourself. Rumor has it you're quite good, Mistress Triana."

"Flattery does not become you, Denna." Triana pursed her lips. "Why would you do this?"

"Not out of the goodness of my heart. You're too clever to believe that." Denna's eyes were cold. "I want to stop looking over my shoulder. I realize my sin is unpardonable. I do not wish for amends, I can never rejoin my Sisters." She looked away from Triana's stony face. "I wish merely to be your ally in return for my safety." She cleared her throat gently. "We have heard rumors of war. The passes will be melting soon. Soldiers who are being paid always desire pleasurable company."

"I will have to discuss this before I can make any offers," Triana stood languidly.

"Who are you reporting back to? Mistress Cara? The Mother Confessor? Lord Darken?" A mischievous smile pulled at Denna's mouth as she brushed aside tendrils of pale blonde hair. "General Trimack? General Bain?"

"That's not for you to know," Triana put her hands on her hips. "Nonetheless, should you prevent me from returning they will know and wipe out your-" Triana gestured expansively at the walls of the sauna with an expression of distaste, "operation," she sneered.

***

"She's ambitious and untrustworthy. The only reason she's even in that position is because she tried to become the undisputed ruler. She has no more loyalty to anyone but herself." Cara's eyes flashed dangerously. 

Garen nodded thoughtfully. "She is no longer one of us. I left her where she is so we could keep an eye on her. I have no love for her but she is a potential weapon."

"There is a way to use her ambition against her," Triana said with a slow smile. Her leathers creaked as she went from reclining to standing. "If we assume she's going to be selling information to both sides, we can use her to give bad or confusing information."

"She's a treacherous little snake, not foolish or crazy. She'll expect that." Cara pointed out.

"And probably sell it anyway because she's a treacherous little snake." Triana's smile showed too many teeth. "Eventually Grix and his allies will realize they can't trust her and might take care of it for us."

"And be of use to us in the meantime," Garen frowned. "Constance, Mistress Cara?"

"Leave her where she is," Cara snapped. "She could get close to Denna but I don't trust her not to either betray us or kill Denna. It's too risky." She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "Anything she builds will fall because she does it alone. We give no aid, no shelter. Set up similar deals with any brothels near fortresses we control." She gazed at Garen first and then Triana. "They are weak but even weak things have their uses."

"You want us to consort with whores?" Garen asked incredulously.

"We exist to serve Lord Rahl," Triana said evenly. "He seems to feel no need for a bodyguard so we are left to come up with new ways to guard him." She folded her hands behind her back.

"It is a stain on the pride of the Mord'Sith," Garen glowered.

"It's no different than protecting the soldiers," Triana shrugged. "Oafs. Whores."

"It is different," Garen insisted.

"And you're going to do it anyway," Cara ordered calmly.

"No, I-" Garen stopped when Cara slapped her down. "Yes. I will. Mistress."


	11. Interlude V

Sister Nicci knelt on the floor of her cell and communed with her master. She stopped as the voice filtered into her consciousness.

His instructions were simple.

She pulled the knife from under her pillow and stabbed herself in the abdomen. As the blood pooled slowly around her, Nicci's eyes stayed open. The darkness encroaching on her vision faded to unnatural green fire. She was kneeling in the same position as before but now she was naked. The rock under her knees was cold, damp, and more real than she had expected.

"How may I serve you, master?" Nicci's voice seemed to fade away in the vastness of the cavern. In answer, a pillar of green fire flared into existence. By its light Nicci found a book.

"Do you take the bargain?" The Keeper's voice hammered at Nicci's nonexistent eardrums. The thrum of it was beyond anything Nicci had experienced in life.

"Yes," Nicci breathed, eyes wide.

Back in her cell, Nicci blinked down at her unstained robes. Carefully, she lifted them up and touched unscathed skin.

***

"Sister Ulicia?" Nicci said softly from the deeper shadows of the library. "I need to speak with you."

"The older sorceress followed Nicci to an abandoned corner of the stacks. "What did you-" she trailed off as she caught a glimpse of Sister Nicci's rotting face. Before she could scream, Nicci plunged the dacra into Ulicia's heart.

***

Richard found Sister Finella's corpse lying prone in the main chamber. Her throat had been slashed and she had been stabbed so many times that Richard was sure some of them had to be after death. He had been aware that the Sisters of Light had been increasingly nervous over the last five days. Now he knew why they had taken to traveling in pairs.

He marched straight down to the Prelate's office and hammered on the door. He ignored the novice who opened the door and focused all his attention on the old woman who was in charge of the order.

"Do sit down, Richard." Annalinna said softly. She was seated behind an oak desk stacked with scrolls.

"Someone is killing your Sister." Richard said, leaning in.

"I'm well aware of that," Annalinna said calmly. "Measures are being taken."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Richard demanded.

"It's none of your concern and would only serve to distract you from your lessons." Annalinna didn't flinch from Richard's anger.

"You won't even tell me when I'm in danger. Why should I trust you?" Richard shouted.

"Your studies should come first. We have no reason to think you're a target. No one has died but Sisters. We're very close to finding the killer." 

"I could help you!" Richard slammed his hands against the Prelate's desk.

Annalinna paused, a series of expressions flitting across her face. "How?" was the question she finally settled on. "You are not yet a wizard and your previous occupation was as a woods guide."

"As the Seeker I found murderers," Richard's frustration increased at Annalinna's tone.

"How many of those murderers were skilled magical practitioners?" Annalinna asked neutrally.

"We faced a wizard of the first order," Richard said.

"Would how you found him be useful here?" Annalinna folded her hands peacefully. "Without the assistance of a Wizard of the First Order or a Mother Confessor that is."

Richard stepped back, nostrils flaring. "It was because I was a woods guide that I could find him. Without magic."

"I see. Did you see anything that would help?" Annalinna asked.

"Whoever killed her must have kept stabbing her after she was dead. That sort of passion had to come from someone who knew her," Richard faltered as he remembered that he was the newest person in the Palace of the Prophets and everyone else had known each other for years.

"I have my most trustworthy acolytes on the job. They are trained to use their Han to find darkness in all its forms. I have no doubt that you would be a great help in apprehending the murderer but I do not think you could help but slow down the investigation. That is not to say you would do it on purpose and as I am in charge of the sanctity of the facility," Annalinna spoke more loudly as Richard stirred, "it is my judgment we'll be abiding by."

"Yes, Prelate," Richard said through gritted teeth.


	12. Chapter 12

Kail looked up at the Palace, set dramatically against the geography and the setting sun. Tiredness blurred his vision and brought tears to his eyes. The spring breeze had melted the snow banks on either side of the road, blurring them into grey humps and the road into ankle deep mud.

Aunt Oria had pressed Kail and his mother harder the closer they go to the seat of D'Haran power. She said she was eager to be home but at times, she whispered to his mother about people and places he knew from his lessons. His aunt (but not really, she was his cousin which was totally different) kept the same closed off expression through each meeting. His mother cried sometimes. Other times she turned away from Aunt Oria (his father's foster sister, which was like being adopted but without changing parents) and went white around the lips.

He wasn't sure which was worse or how he felt about it. Seeing his mother cry made Kail feel a cold knot in his belly. Aunt Oria scared him. Aunt Oria scared his mother. What he saw waiting at the gates of the People's Palace scared Aunt Oria. He could tell.

Lessons in history and politics told Kail that the woman was a Confessor. Her dress was as white as the palace's battlements, glowing in the freshly fallen night. Or were they ramparts? Kail had only seen his father's garrison, never a castle or palace, and only a few times. His green eyes darted from the Confessor to the Palace and back. Her blue eyes reminded Kail of a winter sky and he shivered.

The new people and long journey had worn Kail so far down that he almost missed the women in red who arranged themselves behind the Confessor. His attention was caught by the blonde standing left of the Confessor. Her green gaze pinned him to the spot. She looked at him the way his tutor looked at grass stains. He felt small and grubby and overtired and like his gut was full of ice. Still, he couldn't look away.

***

Kahlan stared tiredly at Darken. "That is a terrible idea." She stood to pace the length of the room.

Zedd lounged in his chair. "It has some merit." He took a bite from one of the leftover winter apples he kept tucked up his sleeve. "What more could go wrong? There's already a civil war. Nearly five hundred casualties last week," he said around the lump of apple.

"What eloquence could I add to such wisdom?" Darken asked.

Glaring at Darken, Kahlan spoke to Zedd. "Kail may be of Rahl blood if we can believe Lady Oria. That doesn't mean he will be accepted as heir. Even if all of D'Hara comes to its senses and decides Richard's government is legitimate," her mouth twisted, "and accepted me as a rightful authority that does not mean they would accept a boy raised with my influence however much or little I have to do with him. An ungifted boy."

"The Rahl line has never been very fruitful and its Gifts are even more inconstant." Zedd took another bite.

"He's my son. That should be enough," Darken said quietly. "Whoever fights against him would be fighting to create a new country, not for D'Hara."

"Are you enjoying the idea of being the last true lord of D'Hara?" Kahlan asked sharply. "What happened to helping your people?"

"I've had a winter to think it over," Darken looked older than Kahlan had ever seen him before. "There is a certain fascination in watching everything go to pieces. After the job "Richard's government" has done, my mistakes shrink to nothing."

"They've withdrawn sooner than we expected but we knew they weren't going to be quiet forever," Zedd said with an outward lack of concern and a tightness around the eyes.

"D'Hara can't take this," Darken said quietly. Kahlan was sure it was sadness that pulled at his mouth but it was hard to tell when his eyes were down. "You've caused what I was trying to avoid." He looked up, laughing with an edge of hysteria. "The creator hates me. She must."

"Am I supposed to believe this outburst?" Kahlan folded her arms. "Or am I supposed to be annoyed at you and lock you away again? Should I tell you that you're loved or tell you that you're hated? Is there a difference in your mind?"

"I think I'm in the wrong room," Zedd announced. "I'll be in the kitchen when you two are ready to discuss matters of state." He left the room, somehow making it seem as if he were unhurried and unembarrassed. Kahlan envied that.

She spun on her heel and left the room without looking at Darken.

***

Cara watched the boy play. She knew who he had to be even though no one said anything. She was Mord'Sith and the offspring of Mord'Sith were raised to be the toughest, strongest citizens of D'Hara. The boys were sent to the Dragon Corps to become elite soldiers. The boy was... timid. He shied from the Mord'Sith and the soldiers, he tried to hide in the library, and the only person she'd seen him talk to since his arrival was his mother. He mumbled at everyone else, eyes on the floor.

His mother was in much the same condition. Maybe the boy was picking up on her worry. Cara scowled at them. It wasn't right.

Lady Oria discreetly made a small coughing noise as she approached Cara. "There is business that requires my attention elsewhere. May I request a favor from you?"

"You can ask," Cara said grumpily. Normally the courtiers stayed clear of the Mord'Sith. Cara had already noticed Oria's habit of disappearing at inconvenient times and appearing in places she had no business being. "Weren't you supposed to be with your brother?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, I had other business when they were leaving and now with the fighting I don't think I'll be making it back there," Oria kept her hands folded demurely.

Cara grunted dubiously. "What favor?"

"I have been trying to further my foster brother's son's education," she gestured airily towards Kail. "I was hoping that while I'm gone you could teach him about fighting. I would not suggest training him of course."

"Of course," Cara said drily, her mind running over possibilities. He favored his right heavily but he might be able to overcome that. Was he small for his age? Cara hadn't known enough boys that age to be able to tell. Girls were generally bigger than boys but how much bigger? He was no worse at fighting than she had been at his age. The tears she blinked back were a surprise. "Of course," she said more softly.

Oria nodded and her mask slipped slightly. The cold calculation in her eyes stirred a warning in Cara's fingertips. "Thank you, Mistress."

Cara scowled and stomped over to the boy. She glared down at Elisa. "I expect to see him at noon tomorrow. He's too scrawny for a sword so I'll have to start him off with a knife." She turned the full force of her concentration on the boy. "Never let people know you're afraid." She turned and stalked away, trying not to see a nine-year-old girl who had held her hand in a cave. She would make him stronger, better.

***

Alana stood rigidly. Her back hurt, her feet hurt, and she was certain her acne could be used for target practice. All in all, she was feeling very grumpy. The news from the border wasn't helping. "From the beginning, what happened?" she asked sharply.

"We were attacked by D'Haran soldiers." The merchant said. "Then another group of D'Haran soldiers attacked them."

Alana nodded tightly. If D'Hara were at war with itself then soldiers would be wandering the borders again. If D'Hara were getting ready to invade the Midlands again then they would also have soldiers along the borders. Either way it was unacceptable. "This time we can stop them at the borders." She turned and told Fyren to gather up the leaders of what remained for the armed forces ion the Midlands. If there were D'Haran civil war, this would be the best time to conquer D'Hara.


	13. Chapter 7

Kahlan demurely folded her hands in front, as she watched Cara lunge toward Kail. The boy flung his longknife up to parry Cara's Agiel and she contemptuously batted it aside. The Agiel grazed Kail's hand and he shrieked in pain.

"You need to get up," Cara said harshly when Kail tried to curl up into a ball. "Get up! Now!"

"I think that's enough for today," Kahlan said calmly, her conscience twinging. Memories of a pair of girls whose father tied them up and abused their powers drifted to the forefront of her mind again.

"He needs to learn to accept pain," Cara said firmly. "He can't learn if he's afraid he's going to get hurt. He needs to know he will get hurt and if he keeps flinching, it will hurt more. Flinching makes people hesitate, make mistakes."

"He's eight years old," Kahlan reminded Cara. Her own knife training hadn't started until she was thirteen. Kail glared up at her in a way that reminded her very strongly of Darken; a mix of petulance, rage, and the feeling that he was filing every humiliation away for later. "Go tell your history tutor I said it was time for your lessons."

Cara glared at Kahlan but didn't protest. After Kail was out of sight and the echoes of his footsteps had faded away Cara finally spoke. "He's weak."

"He's a child," Kahlan said, not quite disagreeing. "We all start there." Kahlan tightened her lips as she thought for a moment. She braced herself against the possibility that she was about to make a monumental error. "Would you expect this much from him if he weren't your son?"

"Are you questioning my judgment?" Cara asked as her spine stiffened. Her hand twitched toward her Agiel before she checked the impulse.

"I believe you are excellent at your job," Kahlan admitted. "Training children isn't your usual assignment. Are you avoiding my question, Mistress Cara?"

"As you avoid mine," Cara said with a slight upward twitch to her lips. "Don't think I don't notice how you're courting his favor. I hurt him and you say when the pain stops. Mord'Sith know everything there is to know about pain."

"Does it anger you?" Kahlan asked, a note of curiosity the only emotion she allowed into her query. It would do no good to deny the truth. She needed the boy to trust her and it wasn't as if she were working against him. If all went well he would never need to be in command but if he were called to the political stage, then he would need to trust her. She shut her mind to the question of whether she would be treating Kail this way if he were the son of any other lord than Darken.

"No," Cara said stoically.

Kahlan raised her eyebrows but Cara did not expand further and Kahlan couldn't read a Mord'Sith. With an internal shrug she didn't allow to reach her shoulders, Kahlan went back to her original line of questioning. "If he can't stop flinching, then what?"

"We can't kill him," Cara said dryly. "He's a Rahl. He will learn."

"So you're not hard on him because he's your son, you're hard on him because he's Darken's son." Kahlan said, satisfaction coloring her words. She realized she was angry not with Kail but Cara. Cara who had given birth to her son and abandoned him to Darken's care. Cara who had shared Darken's bed and come away with a child. Cara who now looked indifferent to Kail's pain. Cara who called her own child weak instead of encouraging him to do better.

Rationally, Kahlan knew that Darken bedded the many of his Mord'Sith. She knew that Cara had never been given a choice about what would happen to her son after his birth. She knew that Cara had just met Kail the previous month. Kahlan's anger was not subdued by logic.

"I am hard on him because he might be the future Lord Rahl and Lord Rahl must be hard," Cara snapped. "He is the future Lord Rahl because Lord Darken was his father. He can't afford for me to be weak."

"Love isn't a weakness," Kahlan said, thinking of Richard for the first time that day.

Cara's look said plainly that she didn't believe that for a moment. "Are you jealous, Confessor?"

"It is none of my concern who Darken used to fill his bed with," Kahlan said firmly.

"I meant of my son," Cara smirked. "Though if you wish to discuss Lord Darken's bed, we could do that too. Does he still-"

"That's not necessary," Kahlan said quickly, cheeks turning red. She frowned harshly, embarrassment and frustration spurring her anger.

"As you say," Cara said mildly, a smirk still lurking in her eyes. "As enjoyable as this is I have other duties to attend to."

Kahlan waved dismissively and stood in the sunlight for another five minutes, quieting her mind. Her anger was clouding her judgment. If that continued, many more would die than necessary. A small corner of her mind reveled in a fantasy where she could confront Darken and get the better of him. A chill ran up her spine when she realized she wasn't sure how that fantasy ended.

***

Kail slowly traced letters on his slate. Each symbol representing a sound, sounds adding up to words, words adding up to sentences until his head felt stuffed full of letters. He imagined them pouring out of his eyes and ears and nose and onto the table. Piles of letters written in a clumsy hand.

The tutor slapped the desk hard enough to make it bounce, drawing Kail's attention back to the room. Like most of the People's Palace, it was done in white stone. This room had only an arrow slit for a window, the sunbeam thrown deeper into the room by a pair of old pieces of polished metal. The light splashed across the tutor's desk and Kail's slate. The chair was uncomfortably hard under Kail's rear. If he did well enough at his studies, he could earn a cushion.

"Do I have your attention, Master Kail?" The tutor said loudly.

"Yes," Kail said sullenly. He watched the tutor's face take on the same pained impatience he was getting used to seeing in adults' faces.

"Then tell me the capital of Kelton," the tutor said slowly.

"I don't know," Kail said, his face scrunching up in frustration.

The tutor sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. "It's time for you to go play."

Kail left the room with his head down. He waited in the hall for a moment, trying to decide where to go. The adults hadn't picked a companion out for him yet. The servants' children knew he was the son of an aristocrat and avoided him. The children of the nobility weren't sure what to make of him. Some of them tried to be nice to him but their smiles were too hard, their laughter too loud, and their eyes kept darting towards him like they thought he'd turn into a dragon. The rest of the noble children were coolly polite. Some of them watched him with the same look they gave to a good roast but no one bothered him. Kail didn't feel up to yet more awkward silences peppered with awkward games.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice when the tutor walked by him. Kail paused for a count of three before following the man. The adult wasn't an important man within the Palace. He felt no need to look over his shoulder. Kail put Aunt Oria's lessons to use as he followed his tutor to a part of the Palace Kail hadn't explored yet. The stone bounced sound around, making a trail for Kail to follow. His breathing and steps sounded louder and louder as his palms began sweating. He felt like he nearly swallowed his tongue when he almost ran face first into a pair of Mord'Sith. His green eyes went wide in horror as he let out a squeak of terror.

The redheaded one on his left chuckled. She coughed as her darker companion glared at her. "Listening at keyholes, little boy?"

Kail thought it over for a moment and nodded eagerly. He still wasn't sure quite which adults listened to which but no one told the Mord'Sith what to do except Lord Rahl. Who wasn't there. They were stronger and bigger than he was. There was no way past them and they might tell his mother he'd been sneaking around. He might as well be honest.

The redhead gestured at the closed door with a flourish.

"-not slow," the tutor was saying when Kail leaned next to the door. "He's making progress."

"Then what's wrong with him?" A deeper voice asked.

"Nothing's wrong," the tutor said quickly. "He's..."

"Just not that bright," the other man supplied.

"Yes," the tutor sighed.

"His mother is the finest field leader of my Mord'Sith. She is unmatched for resourcefulness. She's a joy to watch in battle." Kail heard a snort. "Yes, I'm quite aware of my own strengths."

"He might grow into himself."

"Might. We'll have to do better than might," the second voice growled. "He has no magic. He's a terrible fighter. He's not very bright."

"He's inexperienced," the tutor said.

"He's fresh meat in a forest full of gars," the other man countered.

"Even if he were the smartest child I'd ever taught, he would still be that," the tutor said.

Kail jerked upright when he heard a loud throat clearing behind him. He turned around to look up at another Mord'Sith. Her big, dark eyes gazed straight through him.

"The Mother Confessor has requested Lord Darken's immediate presence." She said.

Kail backed away, still watching since the Mord'Sith weren't telling him to go away. The tutor scurried away without noticing Kail hugging the wall. The next person out was an imposing dark haired man. Later, Kail would think over what he'd heard and realize that this was the man who had fathered him before he was given to Papa. Right then, all he thought was that this man scared him worse than anyone but Mistress Cara did.

"Is this him?" The man asked, looking Kail up and down. His blue eyes burned brightly.

"Yes, the redhead said at the same time the new brunette said, "The summons is most urgent."

"I'm sure it is, Triana," he said with a heavy sigh. "I want to see him later."

Kail watched wide-eyed as they walked down the hall.

***

"Tell me about this urgent summons," Darken said as he settled into his chair.

"Alana has decided the fighting between loyalists and secessionists is good enough reason to arm the D'Haran border," Kahlan said sharply.

"That was foreseeable," Zedd noted from his corner while Darken dropped any semblance of insouciance.

"Not in the numbers the spy networks are reporting," Kahlan said and named a number. "That's a conservative guess."

"That has to be everyone between twelve and eighty," Darken said. "She's preparing to invade. On her own authority?"

"Yes," Kahlan said, hands clenched. She didn't even seem irritated that Darken spoke without being spoken too. Darken wasn't inclined to count that as a victory just yet. The fear of invasion didn't prevent a slight warmth in the pit of his stomach as they planned their response.

***

Trimack stared at the wreckage his troops had made of the hamlet. In order to make fortifications they had needed ready lumber. Chopping down trees and cutting them into usable pieces would be time consuming and labor intensive. Tearing buildings into their parts was quick and easy. Unfortunately, it did not make the locals want to keep him around. The hamlets within four or five leagues, on the other hand, were already enjoying the newfound prosperity that came from selling goods to camp followers. The secessionist troops were doing exactly the same thing and so far, the locals were blaming them for the loyalist troops' destructive presence. Trimack wasn't going to rely on that good will.

The gallows only held three former looters. That number would go up. The sergeants were doing a better job than usual of keeping the men in line. Or at least of keeping the incidents out of the sight of the officers.

He barely noticed a short, dark haired soldier riding in on a courier horse. No couriers were scheduled for the week. Urgent news was never good news. Trimack sighed and went into the command tent to pull up his plans for besieging New Gavinville. So called after Old Gavinville burned to the ground fifty years before. No one remembered who Gavin was and why he'd chosen that particular patch of dirt for a place to live.

New Gavinville was located next to a river, making it one of D'Hara's trade centers. Cutting New Gavinville off from the world would cut the secessionists off from most trade. The biggest problem would be cracking the fortress located in the center of town. Everyone in the outlying countryside had either fled the area or withdrawn inside the stockade that circled the city on all but the dockside.

The soldier entered the tent, smelling strongly of horse and old sweat. He wearily pulled himself to attention and saluted General Trimack. "Report, sir."

"Proceed, Trooper..." Trimack grunted. The soldier was oddly familiar but he couldn't quite place which unit the courier was from.

"Orien, sir. Midlander troops are massing on the border," Orien said. "Expected to invade before summer is over."

Trimack clamped his jaw shut on several very bad words. He began altering his plans to crack New Gavinville as quickly as possible. He'd need the fortress to stand against invading troops. "Can you get a message to the nearest Mord'Sith Temple?"

Trooper Orien nodded with a commendable lack of flinching.

Trimack got to work writing out a message to the Mistress of the nearest Temple.


	14. Chapter 8

Darken watched Kahlan. He watched her sidelong in furtive glimpses. He watched her as he faced her. He watched her as she ate in public and as she passed by him in the hall. There were only two people he had ever watched as intently as he watched Kahlan; his father and Mistress Kartra. It was Mistress Kartra who had taught him how to look.

The pulse points at the wrist, temple, and throat revealed the way Kahlan's heart sped up whenever he moved suddenly into her field of vision. Close attention to her pupils showed the way they dilated when she looked at him and looked away. All of it belied the tightness around her eyes and mouth, the newfound primness to her hands as she placed them with splayed fingers flat against any available surface. Tables, desks, her knees; she placed her fingers self-consciously loose. No clenching them into fists or worrying them against each other. Palms down so that he couldn't see the perspiration gather there, only the faint signs of damp handprints when she stood.

Among the Mord'Sith, Darken had learned the many fine distinctions of pain. Dull pain, sharp pain, shooting pain, throbbing pain. The pain that came from stubbing his toe was unique from the pain of knocking his head against the ceiling. The pain of the Agiel was all pains at once. It flooded its fiery way along the fibers of his nerves, erasing all unnecessary thoughts. He missed that clarity.

The Agiel blurred the line between absolute pain and all other sensations. When he was burned, Darken felt a thrill of cold. When he touched an Agiel, he felt a thrill of pleasure. During his time in the Temple, Darken had listened to the girls undergoing training. Good, kind girls who hadn't wanted to kill so much as a rat. The Mord'Sith said that only the strong survived training. Those able to set their own lives above the lives of lesser beings. Darken thought that to lay all the credit at the feet of that one trait would be incomplete and potentially shortsighted.

As was happening more and more often, thoughts of his childhood led to thoughts of his son. He thought of how Kail might respond to Mord'Sith training. So far, the reports were not favorable. He couldn't afford to allow Kail to be destroyed like that. Richard might reproduce but given his idiot brother's ideals, that might not happen. The magic couldn't go backwards. It had passed from Darken's father to Darken to Richard. Darken could take back the title but he couldn't take back the Rahl bond without the help of Orden. Kail could take the title but not the Bond because he had no Gift. The Boxes of Orden could bend reality but Darken was not sure if they could be trusted to Gift Kail. As long as the Boxes remained in D'Haran control, the attempt would still be possible. There was no reason to rush something like that.

Kahlan loudly cleared her throat. "Well?"

"I apologize most humbly, Mother Confessor. I was distracted by your lovely hair," Darken said calmly. "Could you repeat the question?"

"I asked why you felt it was necessary to try to steal my nephew. Wouldn't he be a threat to your son's power?" Kahlan asked as if he hadn't been staring at her. "Or yours even?"

"Ah, that," Darken grunted. "Again." He shrugged loosely. "It's not as if Kail is my only child."

"Why didn't you say anything about that before?" Kahlan betrayed surprise.

"He's the only one left alive," Darken said. "It's not everyone I allow the honor of carrying my child. Then there are the complications that can appear in pregnancy. Bleeding, miscarriage, poison and so on." Darken took satisfaction in the slight flinch Kahlan couldn't hide from him. "Then there were the childhood illnesses and inconvenient accidents." He was too busy watching Kahlan to think about Haken and Riata's funerals.

"And you protected Kail from all that?" Kahlan raised her eyebrows skeptically. "An ungifted boy who-"

"Was with my fosterling." Darken said stiffly. "As safe as I could make him."

"So I'm supposed to infer that the unfortunate accidents were not your doing." Kahlan said with a hint of exasperation. "But since you won't say that straight out then it must not be true."

"How well you know me." Darken gave her a genuine smile, wondering what it would be like to see her with his child. He was acutely aware that he was the only man who had touched the mighty Mother Confessor in that way. Ever.

"Another answer that says nothing," Kahlan snapped but Darken was sure he detected a hint of fondness under the spines.

"Only two, well three. But there were extenuating circumstances." Darken assured her.

"Such as?" Kahlan asked, nine parts disbelief and one part hope.

"Mothers about to use them to plot against me, hostages, and one case of one of my sorcerers deciding that the best way to remove me from my throne was through a spell that used one of my children to kill my line." Darken explained. "I wouldn't kill my own children for no good reason."

"You believe that," Kahlan shook her head wonderingly.

Darken felt hurt... pain. It was unexpected. He'd never felt much need to defend himself before. Mord'Sith and Egremont never needed him to tell them why he was doing what he was doing. Well, Cara demanded that his plans make sense from a tactical standpoint but any moralizing had always been to the faceless, unwashed masses of the Resistance.

Kahlan stared at his face, the corners of her eyes softening slightly. Before he could push his advantage, she turned back towards the plans for their supply lines and changed the subject.

***

Cara folded her arms across her chest and growled. Had she been the sort of person to worry about the fairness of the world, she would be complaining very loudly. Instead, she was Mord'Sith. Mord'Sith did not whine. They killed people; many, many people. "The entire Temple?"

Triana nodded, frowning fiercely. "They've gotten smart."

The troops were busy fighting with one another and so far were coming out barely in favor of the loyalists. The addition of Midlander troops to the mix was only not ending in butchery because the Mord'Sith were being more and more involved. So the Midlander troops were targeting Mord'Sith.

"We weren't trained for this," Cara gritted out.

"We're here to serve," Triana shrugged one shoulder. "I'll write."

"You better," Cara demanded gruffly. "I need to rearrange the roster." She turned and walked away before anything more could be said.

***

Garen squinted at Trooper Orien through the haze of wood smoke. She wished for a moment for a cloth to wrap over her nose and mouth. No matter how much pain she had been trained to endure, she couldn't stop the tears from stinging her eyes. She strode confidently through the muddy alleys between tents, ignoring the wary and lustful stares of the soldiers.

Trooper Orien trailed behind her, dragging tiredly through the mud. His uniform showed more wear than Garen thought was usual and the scarf hiding the lower half of his face was definitely not standard issue. She didn't let the soldier drift farther than the periphery of her vision.

Garen swept aside the tent flap and looked down her nose at Trimack. "Well?"

"Infiltrating the fortress and removing the command structure would be the best way to end this," Trimack said. "Any argument?"

"Not as yet," Garen turned to glare at Orien until he went away. "That was not a courier."

"The spy network is alive and well," Trimack shrugged. "I would leave the planning for the strike team entirely in your hands. I have no expertise in that area."

"True. You do not." Garen studied the man who was wise enough to admit ignorance. She eyed his broad build speculatively. "Do you have any records of how the fortress was built?"

Trimack barely hesitated before he pulled out a sheaf of papers. "No convenient caves or drains, I'm sorry to say."

Garen shrugged in a way to make men's hearts race. His lack of reaction made her frown slightly but then she began going over the notes. "I think we can manage this."

***

Kahlan paced the corridors, trying to calm her mind. Tara and Erin were pregnant. Dennee was safely on Valeria. Her sisterhood was busily replenishing its numbers. Yet Kahlan wasn't taking a mate. She couldn't quite say why. She knew what she needed to do but the idea of finding someone to lie with felt wrong. Not sickeningly wrong, just a slight prickle of doubt.

She was standing out in front of the Palace before she knew it. Summer had come early and the woods were green. The sun dappled shade called to her and she answered the cal by wandering down slope.

"Kahlan," a voice called hoarsely from the shadows. "It's Richard."


	15. Chapter 9

Trimack stepped outside his tent and watched his men scurry busily about their business. The mud had dried into dust that hazed the air. Combined with the smoke floating along the wind, Trimack put visibility at roughly twenty paces. Coughs and running noses were common among the men, nearly all of them hiding the lower halves of their faces behind scarves and handkerchiefs. Still, Trimack was easily able to identify his target.

His hand closed on the back of the soldier's neck. The Trooper let out a surprised yelp as Trimack propelled them both back into the command tent. He was unprepared for the boot to his shin and he released the spy.

"Sorry sir," Trooper Orien mumbled hoarsely. "Caught me by surprise."

Trimack grabbed his shoulder and turned him to look him in the eye. He observed the red, irritated eyes behind dark swollen bags. "What happened?"

"Walked into a post, sir," Orien said. "Very clumsy of me."

"No, Trooper. On the border. I couldn't care less about your scrapping," Trimack glared down. The nagging sense that he'd seen the boy somewhere before tugged at Trimack's mind. "I know you know."

"Now, I know that you know that I know," Trooper Orien sighed and hacked a cough. "On the border. A Midlander patrol ran into a D'Haran patrol. Ours or theirs, I don't know. They skirmished. Both sides had survivors who told their leaders." Orien waved vaguely. "The usual mess of skipping links in the chain of command for immediate response on both sides. What ususally happens when heavily armed men in uniforms decide to try to occupy the same territory."

The movement of her hands as she described the conflict made the tumblers of Trimack's memory fall into place. "Lady Oria. What a surprise."

She blinked her bruised eyes at him. "If you didn't know then why did you single me out?"

He looked at her scarred hands and shrugged, several assumptions slowly shifting places in his head. He'd known Lord Darken had made her into a weapon but he'd thought the younger Rahl would have had better sense than to teach a woman conflict outside of the Mord'Sith way. "I'll work with what I'm given." The words "if I have to" he left unsaid. "Do you have any other useful news?"

"Do you want to know who's running the local black market?"

"Might as well," Trimack said, considering.

***

Kahlan supported Richard all the way into the People's Palace where she called for Zedd.

"The Boxes. I need the Boxes. We have to stop Nicci." Richard repeated the words over and over in different combinations.

"What's wrong with him?" Kahlan asked urgently as Zedd muttered over Richard.

"Exhaustion," Zedd pronounced finally. "He nearly ran himself to death trying to get here. Even he has limits on how much food and sleep he can do without." Zedd gestured at the irritated red skin on Richard's hands and face. "The sunburn and raw spots don't help either."

"How long before we can get any sense out of him?" Kahlan said after ordering a servant to bring broth.

"This time tomorrow he should be sensible," Zedd said confidently.

"Good," Kahlan nodded. "How can I help?"

***

Jealousy surged through Darken. This was time Kahlan had set aside to discuss policy with him and she was using it to nurse his idiot brother. The rational explanations were not as compelling as they should be. He knew she would always go running to Richard whenever he was hurt. The anger and hurt still would not leave even after a calming exercise the sorcerers had taught him.

It was in that frame of mind that Darken encountered Kail in the corridor. He glared at the boy with all the venom he didn't dare show Kahlan. "Where are you going?" he asked, ignoring his jailors and their impatience.

"Maths," Kail said softly, cringing from Darken's anger.

"Stand up straight," Darken ordered. "Do not cower. Never let anyone know you're afraid." Kail nodded quickly and what passed itself off as Darken's conscience twinged guiltily. "Especially not me," guilt and anger and anger at feeling guilt made him spit the words more forcefully.

"Yes, Lord Darken," Kail said rapidly. "Sorry, Lord Darken."

"Don't apologize. If you're in error, change your approach." Darken bit down hard to keep himself from sounding even more like his father. "Just go." He watched Kail race off to the protection of his tutor and couldn't feel anything but nausea.

***

D'Haran troops fell like leaves before the onslaught of orange robed sorceresses. The Mord'Sith shored up the lines where they could but their numbers were depleted from the recent reassignments to the Midlander border.

The tide turned when Richard was Confessed by Kahlan and they pushed the Boxes of Orden together. The light in Richard's eyes disturbed Cara. She gripped her Agiel tight and ignored the sense of impending doom that settled into the pit of her stomach.

Richard directed his glowing, eldritch gaze on the sorceresses. He spoke a few words that thundered too softly for Cara to understand and their leader vanished. The sorceresses broke and ran. The Mother Confessor pulled the Boxes apart.

In the confusion, some of the troops chased after the retreating sorceresses. Cara was so busy watching for one last spell to be flung toward Lord Rahl that she was as shocked as Richard was when she realized there was a crossbow bolt right above Lord Rahl's left kidney.

"My spies say Richard is dead," Alana told Jennsen.

Jennsen shook her head. "I don't believe it."

"He was attacked by his former teachers." Alana gloated.

Jennsen laced her fingers together and stared at her knuckles. She refused to believe her brother was dead. If Alana had more reliable information, she'd likely just stage a public execution for Ambassador Rahl. She had to keep thinking that.


End file.
